PART 29: Nightmares and a Glimmer of Hope

**PART 29: Nightmares and a Glimmer of Hope**

The soft echoes of laughter filled the air as young Yumi played in her room. Her small hands guided a doll through an imaginary world, her voice making the doll speak in playful tones. The room was warm, filled with the fading light of the evening sun that streamed through the curtains, casting a gentle golden glow on everything. For a brief moment, everything felt perfect—simple, innocent, and safe.

Yumi smiled, giggling to herself as her doll "spoke" to its friends, imagining a perfect little world where no one had to worry about anything. The happiness she created in this tiny bubble was her refuge.

But slowly, the golden light began to dim. Yumi didn’t notice it at first, too lost in her play. Then, the laughter in her voice grew quieter. The warmth in the room began to slip away, replaced by a cold emptiness. Yumi looked up, and the room had changed. The walls seemed farther apart, darker, and quieter.

The sounds of arguing filtered through the walls—muffled but unmistakable. She knew those voices. Her parents. Again.

"Not again," Yumi whispered, clutching her doll tightly to her chest.

The sounds grew louder, more intense. She could hear her father yelling, her mother’s voice strained with frustration. The words were tangled in anger, sharp and cutting. Yumi squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the noise, trying to retreat back to her world of dolls and games. But the harsh reality of her parents’ broken relationship tore through her fragile bubble of happiness.

Suddenly, she was no longer in her room. The scene shifted, and Yumi found herself in the living room, standing in the doorway as she watched her parents argue. They didn’t notice her, too caught up in their own turmoil to see their daughter standing there, watching, feeling forgotten.

Day after day, it got worse. Their voices grew louder, the fights more frequent. And with each argument, Yumi felt smaller and smaller, lost in the chaos of a home that no longer felt like one. She was left alone, given money as if it could replace their presence. She had everything material she could ask for but nothing of what she truly needed—love, affection, time.

The scene blurred again, and Yumi was back in her room, sitting alone in the dim light. She stared at the money her parents had left her, their way of showing care. But it was hollow. It didn’t fill the empty space inside her heart.

Tears welled up in Yumi’s eyes as the weight of everything crashed down on her. She clutched her doll tightly, trying to hold on to the last remnants of her childhood, but it wasn’t enough. The tears spilled over, and she cried—deep, heart-wrenching sobs that filled the room. She cried for her broken family, for the loneliness that consumed her, for the pain that she didn’t know how to express.

Time seemed to stand still as her cries echoed in the emptiness.

But eventually, the sobs subsided, leaving behind an aching silence. Yumi wiped her tears with the back of her hand, her small frame trembling from the emotional release. She sat in that stillness for a long moment, letting it wash over her.

Then, slowly, her eyes drifted to the corner of the room where her paints were stored. The colors, the brushes—they called to her, offering an outlet, a way to channel the storm of emotions that swirled inside her.

Without a word, Yumi stood up and moved toward the paints. She grabbed the brushes, her hands moving with purpose now. She poured out the colors, splashing them onto the canvas, not caring about form or technique. She just painted, letting the emotions flow through her hands, expressing everything she couldn’t say.

Her strokes were rough, wild, filled with anger and sadness, but also a desperate need for control—for something that was hers. Each color, each stroke on the canvas was an attempt to make sense of the chaos, to give her pain a voice. As she painted, the flashbacks came—her parents, their voices, the empty house, the loneliness. It all poured out onto the canvas.

Time passed, and when she finally stopped, Yumi looked at what she had created. The painting was raw, filled with emotion. It wasn’t pretty, but it was hers. And somehow, that brought her a sense of calm she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Yumi let out a long breath, her body still trembling but her heart feeling a little lighter. She sat down on the floor, leaning against the wall, staring at the painting.

As the quiet settled in, her mind wandered to Kyoshi. He had been so kind to her. Unlike others, he never seemed to put on a façade or pretend to be someone he wasn’t. He didn’t try to impress her with fake smiles or hollow compliments. He was just… himself.

Yumi smiled faintly at the thought of him. Kyoshi had become her first real friend. Someone who didn’t judge her or expect anything from her. He had been kind, thoughtful, and sincere. And lately, Yumi had started to notice something else—something that made her heart skip a beat when she thought about him.

"Is this what having a crush feels like?" Yumi whispered to herself.

She hugged her knees to her chest, her mind swirling with thoughts of Kyoshi. It was a strange, new feeling—one that scared her a little but also made her feel warm inside. For the first time in a long time, Yumi felt a sense of hope. Kyoshi had become a light in her life, a reminder that not everything was as dark as it seemed.

With that thought, Yumi smiled to herself, her heart a little lighter as she sat there in the stillness of her room. Maybe, just maybe, things could get better.

Chapter end