"I remembered it again."
Kaito held his head.
Sora asked, "Remembered what?"
"A failure from three years ago. I fumbled during a speech and everyone laughed."
Hiyori said gently, "That was three years ago."
"I know. But I can't forget." Kaito looked pained.
Sora opened her notebook. "I've researched rumination."
"Rumination?"
"Like how cows chew regurgitated food repeatedly, you repeat the same thoughts over and over."
Kaito nodded. "Exactly that. Again and again, I remember that moment."
Hiyori asked, "How do you feel when you remember?"
"Embarrassed. Pathetic. I regret not doing it differently."
Sora explained, "That contains cognitive distortions."
"Cognitive distortions?"
"Thought patterns that distort reality. For example, catastrophic thinking."
Kaito asked, "Catastrophic?"
"Feeling one failure is like a total life failure. 'I failed that speech' becomes 'I can't do anything.'"
"True," Kaito admitted. "After that, I convinced myself I can't speak in public."
Hiyori supplemented, "That's overgeneralization. Drawing broad conclusions from one event."
Sora continued, "There's also selective attention. You remember only failures, forget successes."
Kaito thought, "Come to think of it, I had successful speeches too, but don't remember them."
"Negativity bias," Sora explained. "The human brain tends to remember negative information more strongly."
"Why?"
"Evolutionarily, to avoid danger. In the past, memories of failure directly related to survival."
Hiyori said, "But in modern times, that can become excessive."
Kaito asked, "How can I forget?"
"You don't need to forget," Sora said. "Change your relationship with the memory."
"Relationship?"
"You can't rewrite the past. But you can change the meaning of the past."
Hiyori gave an example. "See that speech failure not as 'embarrassing dark history' but as 'the trigger to learn public speaking.'"
Kaito pondered. "Reframing?"
"Yes," Sora nodded. "Same event, but meaning changes with perspective."
Hiyori asked, "What else can we do?"
"From self-criticism to self-compassion," Sora answered. "Not 'how useless I am' but 'I did my best then.'"
Kaito's eyes welled up. "It hurts because I did my best and still failed."
"That feeling is important to keep," Hiyori said. "Even if not perfect, effort has value."
Sora offered another perspective. "Temporal perspective is also important. 'Current you' and 'you from three years ago' are different people."
"Different people?"
"In three years, you've grown. Gained experience. You're not the Kaito from back then anymore."
Kaito nodded slowly. "I do feel like I've changed."
Hiyori suggested, "Why don't you write a letter to your past self?"
"A letter?"
"To yourself from three years ago, from current you. What do you want to tell him?"
Kaito thought. "I want to say 'It's okay. That failure isn't the end.'"
Sora smiled. "That's self-compassion."
Hiyori continued, "And forgiveness is important too. Forgiving yourself."
"Forgiveness," Kaito repeated.
"Accepting your imperfect self. Giving yourself the right to fail."
Sora supplemented, "Forgiveness isn't forgetting. It's letting go of suffering."
Kaito took a deep breath. "It's hard, but I'll try."
"No rush," Hiyori encouraged. "Reconciling with the past takes time."
Sora said, "When you notice rumination, just recognizing 'I'm thinking about it again' is enough."
"Don't need to stop it?"
"Trying to force it to stop makes it stronger. Notice it, take distance."
Kaito understood. "Become an observer?"
"Yes. Not swallowed by thoughts, but viewing from the side."
Hiyori added, "And return to this moment. Not the past, but here and now."
Kaito looked out the window. "Here and now."
"Can't change the past. Future is uncertain. But you can choose now," Sora said.
Kaito slowly stood up. "Thank you. I feel a bit lighter."
"Talk anytime," Hiyori said.
Kaito smiled slightly. "I'll stop being bound by the past."
Sora smiled. "It's a process. Won't go in a straight line. But you can change direction."
The three quietly left the classroom. The shadow of the past was still there. But light was beginning to show.
A bound heart slowly unravels.