In the shroud of night, Sarada found herself feeling incomplete once again. Lying in bed, hoping the ringing in her ears would lull her to sleep, she willed her mind to slow. It was a rare sensation these days—to feel like something was missing—but sometimes it came creeping in like the tendrils of night air past an unshut window.

An agonizingly slow month had passed since she last saw her father but the image burned in her brain like it was yesterday. His bruised and battered body lying on the hospital bed was something she had to die to be able to erase. But despite her pleading, he was on his journey once again, researching the things it seemed only he could.

What about your injuries? She had asked desperately, clutching onto her father's hand. It was only days since he lost his rinnegan, since he almost lost his life. And although he tried to hide it behind locks of shiny black hair, she knew that one puff of wind would reveal a mangled mess of flesh and tissue.

She remembered his sad smile and how his hand moved from hers and to her shoulder, pulling her into his rare but always tender hugs. It was a promise of next time, she knew. And she especially knew that her father had a duty to the village. But sometimes she wished that she didn't have to share him with so many others.

Missing her Papa these days, Sarada mused, came in bursts unlike before. When he was gone from her life for years, the emptiness he left behind was blindingly obvious. It was like the dull ache of a previously healed bone or a stitched scar. But now, missing him came in the form of sudden smells that wafted to her nose in the marketplace or the sound of shuriken clinking in the air. Each time, she felt a pang that was even more uncomfortable than before.

Unable to find sleep, Sarada crept to the kitchen for a glass of water. It was there that she found her mother. Her pink tresses cascaded around her face as she slept with her head in her arms at the kitchen table. Papers scattered around her sleeping form like a halo. Sarada smiled softly and shook her head. Mama had a habit of falling asleep while doing work.

Inching closer, Sarada peered over her mother's shoulder at the sheets of paper that littered the table. She quietly collected each one, intent on organizing them as she knew that in the morning, her mother would frantically try to do so before needing to leave for work.

Not wanting to pry, she cleaned quickly without giving the papers a second glance. But when the familiar scrawl caught her attention, she could no longer pretend not to see what was written. Carefully, she unfolded the first sheet in her hand, finding that it was a letter from her father addressed to her mother dated during his years-long mission.

The letter was short, reflecting that of a man of few words. She gently traced each word on the page with her finger, memorizing Papa's handwriting like her life depended on it. When her touch felt the shape of her name, she froze.

The stars here are bright, Sarada would love to see it, the letter read. Just like her father always was, he packed the strength of a thousand words in just a simple sentence. Between each word, Sarada could feel every hidden message, as if Papa had spoken them aloud. I'm thinking of you, the letter whispered to her, I miss you.

Suddenly feeling her knees buckle, she sank quietly into the chair across from her mother. Sarada couldn't tear her eyes away from the letter, finding herself bound to it, afraid that if she let go it would disappear in a puff of smoke.

She had long accepted that her Papa's love was strong in its silence, opting instead to shine through his actions rather than his words. But just this once, she was given a glimpse into the things he left unspoken. And it was an offer she couldn't refuse.

As her eyes scanned the letters that littered the table, her vision blurred with the threat of unshed tears. Guilt may find her in the morning for invading the privacy of letters between her parents but tonight, she could no longer fight against the urge to dive into her father's mind. As she gathered the remaining letters in her hands and crept back to her room, her heart raced with anticipation. Tonight, she would read the letters he left behind.


Author Note

I thought I'd try something new this time! This work will be a collection of letters that Sasuke sent to Sakura throughout the years and serves as a way for me to dive into his complex character a bit more and flesh out his feelings during his missions. Look forward to an update soon!