Disclaimer: I'm not a man. That should answer it.
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She had found it near his favorite spot in the training grounds.
She never knew he would ever keep these sorts of things. In fact, it surprised her greatly. She never knew he would actually bother to do something like that. He having one was the last thing on earth that she would have ever thought of.
Uncertain of what to do, she had brought it back to her own home, and stored it in her secret box, containing personal objects like pictures of him and pressed potpourri petals soaked with those painful childhood memories.
And there it stayed, for a year. She met up with her team the next day, and he didn't seem to notice. Or at least his stoic face that was void of all emotions at all times didn't seem to hold any worries. She silently breathed a sigh of relief, because she knew it must have been precious, or maybe at least something important to him.
More important than she was, definitely.
She forgot about it, and so the one year slowly turned to two. And then, three.
She was turning 15. Still fit as ever, her hair had grown back, but she kept it back in a braid. No longer was she chasing dreams of fragility. She was still a Genin, but she didn't care. Not anymore, that was. She had yearned to be a Chuunin because he was one, and when she stopped, one day, to actually think back – the only reason why she begged her okaa-san to enroll her into the Konoha Ninja Academy was because she had heard he was going to be in it too.
That was approximately 9 years ago. Nearly a decade ago, she was as blind as all the other girls were. Nearly a decade ago, she had joined an academy that would change her life. Nearly a decade ago, she had foolishly ended her friendship with the greatest person she had ever come across to over a futile infatuation.
That was all 9 years ago.
Now she was someone whom everyone knew as one of the top kunoichi student- teachers ever. Her knowledge had not been to waste, it seemed.
Now, it was three years that had passed. He was gone, and she had been left alone. It was only when she had come back from the school one fateful Friday night, when she had suddenly remembered it.
It took her a while to find the box. Flipping through the age-old artifacts of her past, a pang of nostalgia hit her. She found herself tearing a little as she browsed through the loose sheets of poems she had wrote at 11 about him, pictures of him at 12 and when they were together in a team.
Many dried leaves and petals were scattered in the container.
She lifted the book up cautiously form the container, afraid that the 5- year-old page leaves would fall out of its binder.
She gulped slowly, as she examined the book. It suddenly looked so foreign to her.
She knew it was his. To look into it . . . would be a sin itself. She pictured herself opening the book and felt a trickle of sweat down her neck.
She lifted up her hand to brush it off, and incidentally, she touched a soft spot at the back of her neck. She winced, and clenched her fist. The bruise he had given her the day he left still stung as badly as it did the moment she had woken up from the slumber he had put her in.
She was stubborn, yet she knew that the words in the book would be painful to read. Sometimes honesty was as sharp as a needle.
She knew that once she started reading, she would regret it later on. Her inner self chided her on. Why not, girl? Why not?
Because I don't want to . . . know.
Because you're afraid to know the truth? –
Yes. No. I don't know!
Face it. You want to, because this . . . would answer all your questions. He's left them hanging by a thin thread, and they've been hanging there for some time. Soon enough, those threads would snap. Then you'll lose him forever. –
Her hands trembled, as she slid her hand underneath the cover.
She wanted to know how he felt. Why he would never show any emotions. Why he would always push people aside.
Why? All these questions had haunted her mind, causing her endless nights of insomnia.
Why?
Because ignorance is bliss.
But honesty is harsh.
She chose the hard way.
Sakura cried herself to sleep that night.
- end -
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She had found it near his favorite spot in the training grounds.
She never knew he would ever keep these sorts of things. In fact, it surprised her greatly. She never knew he would actually bother to do something like that. He having one was the last thing on earth that she would have ever thought of.
Uncertain of what to do, she had brought it back to her own home, and stored it in her secret box, containing personal objects like pictures of him and pressed potpourri petals soaked with those painful childhood memories.
And there it stayed, for a year. She met up with her team the next day, and he didn't seem to notice. Or at least his stoic face that was void of all emotions at all times didn't seem to hold any worries. She silently breathed a sigh of relief, because she knew it must have been precious, or maybe at least something important to him.
More important than she was, definitely.
She forgot about it, and so the one year slowly turned to two. And then, three.
She was turning 15. Still fit as ever, her hair had grown back, but she kept it back in a braid. No longer was she chasing dreams of fragility. She was still a Genin, but she didn't care. Not anymore, that was. She had yearned to be a Chuunin because he was one, and when she stopped, one day, to actually think back – the only reason why she begged her okaa-san to enroll her into the Konoha Ninja Academy was because she had heard he was going to be in it too.
That was approximately 9 years ago. Nearly a decade ago, she was as blind as all the other girls were. Nearly a decade ago, she had joined an academy that would change her life. Nearly a decade ago, she had foolishly ended her friendship with the greatest person she had ever come across to over a futile infatuation.
That was all 9 years ago.
Now she was someone whom everyone knew as one of the top kunoichi student- teachers ever. Her knowledge had not been to waste, it seemed.
Now, it was three years that had passed. He was gone, and she had been left alone. It was only when she had come back from the school one fateful Friday night, when she had suddenly remembered it.
It took her a while to find the box. Flipping through the age-old artifacts of her past, a pang of nostalgia hit her. She found herself tearing a little as she browsed through the loose sheets of poems she had wrote at 11 about him, pictures of him at 12 and when they were together in a team.
Many dried leaves and petals were scattered in the container.
She lifted the book up cautiously form the container, afraid that the 5- year-old page leaves would fall out of its binder.
She gulped slowly, as she examined the book. It suddenly looked so foreign to her.
She knew it was his. To look into it . . . would be a sin itself. She pictured herself opening the book and felt a trickle of sweat down her neck.
She lifted up her hand to brush it off, and incidentally, she touched a soft spot at the back of her neck. She winced, and clenched her fist. The bruise he had given her the day he left still stung as badly as it did the moment she had woken up from the slumber he had put her in.
She was stubborn, yet she knew that the words in the book would be painful to read. Sometimes honesty was as sharp as a needle.
She knew that once she started reading, she would regret it later on. Her inner self chided her on. Why not, girl? Why not?
Because I don't want to . . . know.
Because you're afraid to know the truth? –
Yes. No. I don't know!
Face it. You want to, because this . . . would answer all your questions. He's left them hanging by a thin thread, and they've been hanging there for some time. Soon enough, those threads would snap. Then you'll lose him forever. –
Her hands trembled, as she slid her hand underneath the cover.
She wanted to know how he felt. Why he would never show any emotions. Why he would always push people aside.
Why? All these questions had haunted her mind, causing her endless nights of insomnia.
Why?
Because ignorance is bliss.
But honesty is harsh.
She chose the hard way.
Sakura cried herself to sleep that night.
- end -