Haruka sat alone in her apartment, the gentle hum of the city muffled by the weight of her thoughts. Though she had made the decision to move forward, to honour Shizuku's memory by fulfilling both of their dreams, there were still ghosts that lingered—shadows of a past that refused to let go.
Her recent meeting with her parents replayed in her mind. The tension, the flood of revelations, and the pain resurfaced all too easily. She had thought that speaking with them after so many years would bring closure, but instead, it had torn open old wounds. The things they said—the truth about Shizuku and the fact that Haruka had altered her own memories to cope—had shaken her foundation.
She pressed her fingers to the piano keys, but no melody came. Her mind was elsewhere, trapped in memories of her childhood and that heart breaking conversation. Her parents had apologized, had explained their actions, but Haruka couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal. They had let her believe lies, let her suffer through the pain of guilt she hadn't deserved to carry alone.
The abuse, the neglect, the constant pressure to be perfect—they still haunted her, no matter what her parents said. Even if they were sorry now, it didn't change the scars they had left behind.
A knock at the door startled her out of her thoughts. Haruka quickly composed herself and opened it to find Yui standing there, a concerned look on her face.
"Hey, Haruka," Yui greeted her, stepping inside. "I thought I'd check in on you. You didn't seem like yourself today."
Haruka smiled weakly, grateful for the support but unsure how to explain the turmoil inside her. "I'm fine... just tired, I guess."
Yui wasn't convinced, her eyes searching Haruka's face. "You don't have to pretend with me. I know you've been dealing with a lot lately."
Haruka sighed, feeling the weight of Yui's words. She had been pretending—pretending that she was okay, that she had everything under control. But the truth was, the more she tried to move forward, the more the past seemed to drag her back.
"It's just..." Haruka began, struggling to find the right words. "I thought I was getting better. I thought that by focusing on the future, on Shizuku's dreams, I could leave the past behind. But it keeps coming back. The things I went through with my parents... it's like I can't escape it."
Yui sat down on the couch, her expression softening. "You don't have to escape it. You just have to face it, one step at a time."
Haruka nodded, though she wasn't sure how to do that. The pain was too raw, too deep. She had spent so many years pushing it down, trying to forget. But now, with Shizuku gone and the truth revealed, there was no one left to shield her from the memories.
"I don't know if I'm strong enough," Haruka admitted, her voice barely a whisper.
"You are," Yui said firmly. "You've already come so far. You've been through things most people can't even imagine, and you're still standing. That's strength."
Haruka blinked back tears, the walls she had carefully built around her emotions starting to crack. Yui's words were like a lifeline, pulling her back from the darkness she had been sinking into.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice trembling.
Yui gave her a small, reassuring smile. "Anytime. And don't forget, you're not alone in this. You've got us—Aqua Notes, the team. We're here for you."
Haruka nodded, feeling a flicker of warmth in her chest. It was true—she wasn't alone anymore. For so long, she had carried the weight of her past in silence, but now she had people who cared, people who wanted to help.
After Yui left, Haruka returned to the piano, her fingers hovering over the keys. The memories of her parents' apologies and confessions still lingered, but they felt a little less overwhelming now. She took a deep breath and began to play, the notes slow and deliberate at first, but gradually building in intensity.
As the music filled the room, Haruka closed her eyes, allowing herself to confront the ghosts of her past. She thought of her parents—their neglect, their abuse, the way they had shaped her childhood. And she thought of Shizuku, the sister who had protected her, who had inspired her, and who she now knew had suffered just as much.
The melody she played wasn't just for Shizuku—it was for herself. It was a song of resilience, of facing the darkness and choosing to move forward anyway. The music carried her, wrapping around her like a protective shield, and for the first time in a long time, Haruka felt like she was in control.
The ghosts of the past were still there, but they no longer held power over her. She would confront them, one by one, until they no longer haunted her.
And with every note she played, Haruka knew she was taking another step toward healing. The memories of the past—her parents, her childhood, the abuse—might never fully disappear, but they no longer defined her.