Days
Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin belongs to Nobuhiro Watsuki, not me.
There were days in which she would allow herself to think that she was pretty. Not beautiful, or extravagantly above average, but certainly acceptable by most social standards. Every now and then she could forget her tomboyish personality and, for a few fleeting seconds, pretend that it was reasonable for a handsome man to desire her affections.
It was difficult, maintaining her instructor image at the cost of her femininity. She knew the townspeople respected her character. She knew they admired her spirit, her resilience in the face of adversity. She was a strong and mature girl far beyond her years, and for the greater portion of her life since her father had died, she had been determined to be nothing less. It was a careful, perpetual mask of independence, practiced and perfected over many years.
But as a young woman approaching 20 with no suitors to think of, she had to wonder on occasion what it would take for someone to see far enough past that mask to uncover her true self: a young maiden whose supposed strength and independence were rivaled only by the cloud of quiet loneliness that shrouded her heart.
It wasn't that she wasn't grateful for the small (albeit dysfunctional) family that had come to surround her- on the contrary, she knew that life without them would leave her irreparably broken, shattered.
No, her loneliness was far more selfish, she knew. It was the kind that gnawed at her slowly, groaning to life anytime she saw him from afar and could be sure he wasn't watching. It ate at her in the dead of night as she stared at the wooden beams of the ceiling unable to sleep with thoughts of how long he would stay with her before he wandered off again. It was a dull ache that grew with every rare, unguarded smile he graced her with- a smile she prayed was shared with her and her alone.
She loved him.
A deep, longing, one-sided love that left her feeling lonelier than she'd ever felt before. She was there- always there- beside him even when she knew she was quite surely a nuisance or a bother. Before, she had thought that this would be enough. No one could deny she was the closest to him now, and for a while she had truly believed that simply being by his side could stave off the quiet desperation for his affection.
But somewhere along the line she realized that her intentions had shifted, mutated into something else entirely: she stayed by his side not because it was "enough" for her, but because she still held on to the hope that maybe someday he would accept her as someone he could love in return. If she could be the person closest to him, be there whenever he needed someone, be his rock-she could somehow win him- she could win his heart and he could be hers.
She knew now she was wrong.
After hearing of his late wife, of her beauty, her quiet feminine nature, she realized it wasn't even a competition. A swan-like, graceful woman… his affections could not have been better placed. It seemed natural that even in her death, her demure, quiet smile captivated him completely as she held his heart between her cool, elegant hands.
It was clear to her now, and though she was reluctant to admit it, it had been for quite some time: there was little hope for him to think of her as anything more than the naive girl who chased after him with a bokken, and even less for him to feel any inkling of romanticism towards her. He was no more hers than he had been two years ago, and it was foolish to entertain the notion that he could ever become such.
But she loved him.
And on some days, as she saw herself in the mirror and her hair lay just right and her face was free of blemishes and she didn't feel too fat or too muscle-y and her fingers looked the appropriate size for a young maiden such as herself (as opposed to too "rough" as she had been told once before), she would don her good kimono (she used the term reluctantly; considering the remainder of her collection, deeming one as "good" simply seemed to raise the proverbial bar off the floor), tie her favorite indigo ribbon (now faded and threadbare from years of use), and emerge into the courtyard, hoping he would look up from attending the laundry to notice her efforts. Most times he didn't- he would greet her as usual, she would reply as usual, and that was that.
But on some days, she could pretend that he looked at her just a bit longer, with just a hint of amber tinting the rims of his violet eyes. She would blush at his compliments and imagine that there was some sort of deeper meaning behind his words.
He would smile, she would smile back, and she could pretend-if only for a second- that it was feasible for him to love her, too.
~~~
A/N: So it's been around 4 years since I've posted anything here…. A lot has happened, and I feel a little guilty for going AWOL for so long, but hey, at least I'm pseudo back. This is a little drabble I've had in my head for a while. It feels….incomplete somehow, but every time I try to add to it, I feel like it doesn't fit the tone. Let me know what you think, and perhaps the one-shot will become a multipart. :P