Exiting the classroom, she roams the unfamiliar playground. Her classmates pay her no attention; all eyes seem to focus on a small boy occupying the sand box. The looks vary from pretended disinterest, to open fear, to hatred too severe to find its way onto a child's face.
And inside she knows, even though she is only seven, she knows that he shouldn't be hated the way he is. The awful stories she's heard don't register. She thinks only about how small he is and that the world has pushed too much on him at once.
So she walks slowly toward the boy that "owns" the sandbox and stands off to one side, a little wary after the warnings from her classmates about the sand monster. Did they really mean this boy?
He turns, gazing up into her bright face.
And he sees what he thinks is an angel with impossibly pink hair and a smile that is all teeth and innocence.
And she sees a scared soul peering through distant jade eyes that she imagines are lovely when he smiles, if he ever does.
But the moment is broken as she quickly sticks her hand out for a handshake (that thing adults always do when they meet for the first time).
Almost too fast for her to follow, he jumps from the sand and a thin grainy tendril wraps sharply around her wrist, breaking her smile and widening her eyes into saucers.
Realizing what his sand has done without his conscious consent, he pulls the sand back abruptly, leaving a harsh, red circle on her pale skin. His eyes mirror the shock on her face, but it disappears quickly as he turns his back to her and waits for the hurried scuffle of sandals as she runs.
But it never comes.
Curiosity gets the best of him and he turns slowly, preparing for the worst; an angry face with fists, her drawing a breath to scream at him. He's seen it all.
Instead, he finds her eyes darting from the sand surrounding his feet to the red ring on her wrist. Her tiny mouth is still opened slightly, but in disbelief rather than horror.
"Did you do that? Did you move the sand?" Even with all the stories she's heard, she is completely dumfounded.
Sakura knew from the day she first saw a ninja that she would join their ranks. The speed that winked them from branch to tree, treading on water as if it were glass, rescuing and healing and sometimes things that looked like magic. And now moving sand. What else was there?
He swallowed hard before answering. When was the last time he had spoken to someone?
"Y-yes, but it was an accident. You should leave, I can't control it." He explained, simultaneously backing away from her, a fearful expression taking over his face.
"But that's what the ninja academy is for, right? So you can practice and stuff." Her tone is excited and his face is still confused, but she plows forward, "-didn't even move your hands, the sand just" - she makes a swooshing sound, hands sweeping grandly before her small frame - "and it was there and then gone. Wow."
They stare expectantly at each other; questions churning behind bright green eyes, his face still frozen with disbelief and naked confusion.
Her head jerks, surprising him, "Oh, I forgot! I didn't even introduce myself. I'm Sakura!"
He struggles for a moment, opening and closing his mouth a few times. "Gaara."
"It's good to meet you. Can I sit in the sandbox with you?"
Too surprised to do much else, he feels his head nodding in affirmation.
Remembering the snake of sand he created, she is cautious as she slides into the cool sand, letting it splay through her fingers. A minute of silence passes.
Then: "I bet you make the biggest, coolest sand castles ever!"
And his eyes soften a sliver as he realizes she hasn't left and is still smiling and his sand isn't angry anymore.
"You don't have to build one; I just want to see your sand move again. Or maybe you need more practice with it?"
He shakes his head, now eager to make something beautiful with the grains instead of a hard shield against weapons.
"I can try." A shy, hesitant smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he calls his sand to life, quietly focusing on building something small.
Sakura watches in awe as the sand at her feet starts to shift and pull together, bit by bit, creating something that resembles a rose.
Gaara is disappointed by his attempt and makes to crumple it as Sakura's hands suddenly scoop it up.
"Gaara! This is so cool!" Looking at him she asks, "Can I keep it?"
He cannot believe someone would want anything he made, let alone something made with his feared sand. But he supposes she is different. Maybe it's the hair.
"Yes, but it's not very good…" he begins, slightly embarrassed.
"Oh, but I like it, and think how much better you'll get with practice." She is turning the blossom in her hands gently, like it's something precious instead of clumps of tiny pieces of rock forced together clumsily.
The bell tolls, announcing the end of recess.
"Do you think I could sit with you again tomorrow?" Her eyes are hopeful and he wants to say yes to all of everything she might ask him.
"O-Okay."
Scooting closer to him by an inch, she lowers her voice, "Thanks for letting me play with you. I was worried I'd be all alone. Starting in a new school is scary."
He watches her jog back to the school, the rose clutched to her chest protectively.
And no one is there to see the first ever genuine smile that graces his face. And Sakura is right; his eyes are lovely when he smiles.