Buried Beneath the Rain

The memory slammed into me, raw and unfiltered.

The temple grounds were slick with rain, the scent of wet earth filling the air. The dim glow of lanterns flickered under the weight of the storm, casting shifting shadows against the wooden pillars.

And in front of me—Komaru.

Her younger self.

She wasn't just a girl from my past.

She was—

"Yuki," she had whispered, her voice trembling. "You'll come back, right?"

I could see it now. The warmth in her eyes, the silent understanding that had always been there. She had been more than a friend. More than a classmate.

She had been like a big sister to me.

The one who had sat with me when I didn't want to go home. The one who had ruffled my hair and told me I wasn't as alone as I thought.

The one I had left behind.

My stomach twisted. I had known loss, but this—this was different.

Because I hadn't just lost Komaru.

I had erased her.

I staggered back, gripping my head. "No… that's not…"

Komaru's gaze softened. "It's okay," she murmured. "Take your time."

But I didn't want to take my time.

I wanted to know.

I forced myself to focus, to drag the memories out of the fog that clouded them.

Why had I forgotten her? Why had I left her behind in the past?

Another flash—

A hospital room.

A bed.

Her voice—soft, comforting.

"You don't have to be strong all the time, Yuki."

I gasped, the air knocked from my lungs.

This wasn't just another face from my past.

This was someone who had once been my anchor.

And I had forgotten her.

Komaru watched me, her expression unreadable. Then, quietly—

"You never tried to remember me, Yuki."

The words cut deeper than they should have.

I swallowed. "Why did you wait?" My voice was hoarse. "All this time… why?"

She exhaled, looking down at the key in her hand.

Then, finally—

"Because I knew you'd remember someday."

The rain slowed, softening to a drizzle.

The storm was ending.

But something told me this was just the beginning.

The rain had softened to a light drizzle, but the weight in my chest only grew heavier.

I had spent years drowning in my sins, remembering every cut, every wound I inflicted—but not this. Not her.

Komaru.

The only one who had ever treated me like a little brother.

And I had erased her like she was nothing.

I clenched my fists. "I don't understand," I whispered. "Why did I forget you, Komaru?"

She looked at me, quiet and steady. Her patience was the same as it had always been, like she already knew how I would react.

"You didn't want to," she said simply.

My breath hitched.

"You forced yourself to remember everything that hurt," she continued, stepping closer. "Because that was what you thought you deserved."

Her eyes met mine, searching for something.

"But you never tried to remember the things that made you human."

I shook my head, stepping back. "That doesn't make sense. I—"

"You remember why you killed them, don't you?" she interrupted.

The air around me froze.

I did.

I remembered the blood. The way their voices had finally stopped. The moment my hands had become stained forever.

I could never forget that.

And yet—

I didn't remember Komaru.

I didn't remember the times she had scolded me for skipping meals, or the way she used to ruffle my hair when I was upset. I didn't remember the days she had let me stay at her house when I was too afraid to go home.

I had buried all of it.

Komaru took another step forward, holding up the key.

"You gave this to me before you left," she said softly. "You said you'd come back for it."

I stared at the key in her hand, my pulse pounding.

I didn't just forget her.

I had chosen to forget her.

Because if I had remembered—

If I had remembered that someone had cared—

Would I have still done it?

The realization hit like a knife to the gut.

Komaru saw it in my face, but she didn't say anything. She just watched, letting me come to terms with it myself.

And for the first time in years—

I felt like a child again.

Like the lost, broken boy she had once tried to protect.

I swallowed hard. "Komaru…"

She didn't flinch.

She just waited.

Waited for me to say something, to ask the question that I already knew the answer to.

And when I finally did, my voice was barely above a whisper.

"Can you tell me everything?"

Komaru smiled—sad, but understanding.

"Come with me, Yuki."

She turned, stepping toward the shrine.

And this time, when she disappeared into the darkness—

I followed.

The shrine loomed ahead, its wooden frame soaked in rain and time. The air smelled of wet earth and old prayers, whispers of the past clinging to the stone steps beneath my feet.

Komaru walked ahead without hesitation. Like she had done this a thousand times before—like she had always known I would follow.

I wasn't sure I had ever been here before.

And yet, something about this place felt… familiar.

I swallowed hard and stepped inside.

The wooden floor creaked under my weight. The shrine was dim, lit only by the flickering lanterns hanging along the walls. The scent of burning incense drifted through the air.

Komaru stopped in front of a small, worn-out altar. Her fingers grazed the edge of a faded cloth draped over it, as if lost in thought.

Then, she turned to me.

"You really don't remember anything, do you?"

I opened my mouth—then closed it.

I wanted to argue. To tell her that I remembered everything.

The blood. The screams. The silence that followed.

But none of those memories had her in them.

And that was the problem.

I clenched my fists. "I don't understand, Komaru. Why was I able to forget you—but not them?"

Komaru studied me, silent for a moment. Then, she exhaled softly.

"You never forgot me," she said. "You just buried me beneath your guilt."

Her voice was calm, but something in it made my chest tighten.

"You remembered your sins, Yuki. Because you thought that was all that mattered." Her gaze didn't waver. "But you left behind the parts of you that didn't fit into that punishment."

I felt my throat tighten.

She wasn't wrong.

I had lived with my past like a chain around my neck. I had never let myself forget what I had done—never let myself feel anything other than the weight of my own actions.

Because that was all I thought I had left.

Komaru turned back to the altar.

"You used to come here a lot, you know," she murmured. "Back when you had nowhere else to go."

I frowned, stepping closer.

The dim lantern light cast shadows against the wooden beams. Dust clung to the corners, the scent of incense thick in the air.

And as I stood there—

A memory surfaced.

It was faint, blurry at the edges, but it was there.

The rain had been softer that day, a quiet drizzle against the wooden roof. I had sat cross-legged on the floor, my arms wrapped around my knees.

And Komaru had been beside me.

Not saying anything. Not asking questions.

Just there.

A lump formed in my throat.

I turned to Komaru. "You were always there, weren't you?"

She smiled faintly. "Someone had to be."

The words stung more than they should have.

Because I knew what she meant.

She had been there. When no one else was.

When I was too afraid to go home. When I had nowhere else to turn.

She had been there.

And I had erased her.

I forced out a breath. "Komaru… I—"

Before I could finish, she reached into her pocket.

The key.

She held it out to me, her fingers curled around the cool metal.

"You left this with me before you disappeared," she said. "Told me to keep it safe."

I stared at it, my pulse pounding.

The key felt heavier than it should have.

Like it carried the weight of everything I had forgotten.

I hesitated. "What does it open?"

Komaru exhaled softly. "A door you locked yourself."

My fingers curled. "That doesn't tell me anything."

"It's not supposed to."

I met her gaze, frustration curling in my chest.

But I already knew—Komaru wouldn't give me the answer so easily.

I had to find it myself.

She closed my hand over the key.

"When you're ready," she said quietly, "you'll remember."

I stared down at my clenched fist, the cool metal pressing against my skin.

And for the first time in years—

I felt like I was holding onto something real.

Komaru held my gaze, the rain softening around us. She didn't answer right away, as if choosing her words carefully.

"You didn't forget me on purpose, Yuki," she finally said. "But you buried me—just like everything else that didn't fit into your pain."

Her words struck something deep in me.

I had never tried to forget my parents. Their voices, their final moments—I carried them with me every second of every day. That weight, that punishment, was something I willingly bore.

But Komaru…

I stared at her, my chest tightening. She wasn't just some stranger from my past. She had been a part of it—one of the few who had ever truly been there for me. And yet, she had faded from my mind like she had never existed.

Why?

"You don't have room for anything else," she said softly. "Not memories. Not people. Just atonement."

Atonement.

I clenched my jaw.

I had killed my parents. That fact never left me. It haunted my steps, shaped my every decision. Every scar I carried was one I had given myself to make sure I never forgot.

But in doing so, had I erased everything else?

Komaru sighed, taking a slow step closer.

"You were always stubborn," she murmured. "You took everything onto yourself, even when you didn't have to."

The shrine lights flickered in the distance, casting long shadows. The scent of damp wood filled the air, the rain now nothing more than a drizzle.

I exhaled, tension bleeding from my shoulders.

"Then why are you still here, Komaru?" My voice was quieter than I intended. "Why didn't you leave me behind like I left you?"

Komaru blinked. For a moment, she looked almost… surprised.

Then, a small, tired smile crossed her lips.

"Because you never left me behind, Yuki."

I stiffened.

She turned her hand, revealing the key I had given her all those years ago.

"You didn't forget me completely," she whispered. "Somewhere inside you, you remembered."

The key glinted under the shrine's dim lantern light.

And in that moment, something inside me cracked.

I had spent years convincing myself I was alone. That after what I had done, I had no right to hold onto anything—not people, not kindness, not the past.

But Komaru had been waiting.

Even when I had abandoned her, she had never let go.

And now, standing here, facing her once more…

I wasn't sure if I deserved that.

But for the first time in years—

I wanted to.

Komaru exhaled, her fingers tightening around the key. "Yuki, you never forgot them because you couldn't. Your parents, what you did to them—those memories are part of your suffering. The weight you forced yourself to carry."

She stepped closer, the rain making her presence feel almost unreal, like a ghost lingering in the downpour.

"But me?" Her voice softened. "You didn't need to remember me."

I swallowed hard.

"You were my friend," I murmured. "My family."

Komaru let out a quiet breath, her gaze unwavering. "That's why you let go."

I shook my head. "That doesn't make sense—"

"It does," she interrupted, firm but not unkind. "You held onto the pain because you thought you deserved it. But I… I was never part of that pain, was I?"

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

Because she was right.

Komaru had been one of the only good things in my life back then. She had been a presence of warmth, of comfort—someone who made things feel bearable even when the world around me was falling apart.

And when I killed them—when I crossed that line—

I had left her behind, too.

Not just in body.

But in memory.

Not because I wanted to forget.

But because remembering her would have made it harder to keep suffering.

Komaru studied me, as if waiting for the realization to settle. Then, quietly—

"You're here now. So what are you going to do, Yuki?"

The storm had quieted. The rain had softened into a misty drizzle, the shrine lanterns casting long shadows across the stone path.

I looked down at the key in her hand. The promise I had broken. The past I had abandoned.

Then, I met her gaze.

"I don't know," I admitted.

Komaru didn't look disappointed. If anything, she almost smiled.

"Good," she murmured. "That means you're thinking about it."

She turned, stepping past me, leaving me standing there in the rain.

"Come find me when you do."

And just like that, she walked away.

Leaving me alone with the past I had finally begun to remember.