Standard disclaimer applies.

...

The Sound of Jasmine

By: Luna

Part 7: My name is . . .

...

I watched you from under my bangs silently, like I've been doing for the past few days.

On the outside, you seem like such a simple kind of man. In the afternoon, when you're not conducting some type of activity and you are actually home, to anyone else would think that you are nothing special.

Yes, you are handsome. And yes, you are kind. But to anyone who doesn't know you, they would know that you aren't too simple after all.

You nod your head in acknowledgment if someone directs some word of speech in your direction but do not gift them with a response. You are polite always, even when you don't need to be, and you do the laundry without having to be asked. You don't smile, and some people would probably wonder why, but they do not ask. They think nothing of you when they see you, but that is because they are foolish.

I know they do not see what I see.

You do not speak most of the time, because I know you most likely do not know what to say. You are polite because that is your true nature, even if you do not think so. You do the laundry out of gratitude because you do not think you have done enough to deserve the type of kindness I show you by letting you stay. You don't smile, because your heart is too tired to try.

But you smile for me. And that, in my mind, is the greatest thing you could ever give to me.

When you smile that rare, genuine smile, your eyes crinkle ever so slightly at the corners, and the hard color of amber in your eyes soften just a bit. And it's beautiful.

I always wish for you to smile more often. To see the sadness that I can sense leave your spirit, if only for a little while. I want you to see yourself as worthy of my kindness, for even though you don't say anything, I can see the regret in your eyes when you think you have nothing to give in return.

But what you don't see, and what I wont ask, is that your gift is you yourself.

I know you want to leave. You always look towards the front gate as if you wish to run through it and never return, but something, something that not even I know of, holds you back.

What does hold you back? I wonder. You have told me so much about yourself even though you didn't need to.

And yet I still haven't given you my name.

Are we the same, in that thought? Are you afraid to leave, just as I am afraid to be hurt?

I have been telling myself that the reason I'm not telling you my name is because I do not trust you. But that itself is a lie. If I didn't trust you, I wouldn't have told you about my parents. If I didn't trust you, I would not be able to love you like I do.

But if I gave you my name, that would put us on personal grounds, and if you truly leave, then . . .

I'd still hurt as much as I would if I hadn't.

I looked away from you when you started to turn your head in my direction. I did not want you to read the emotions I knew you'd be able to see in my eyes. Still, the fear of being hurt was attached firmly on the corners of my heart.

But why do you want to leave? Why are you hesitating in staying? Are you afraid of . . . are you afraid at all? Nothing is holding you back here. Just a no-name girl with shattered dreams and a heart that is afraid to hope.

Can you love someone like me? Would you stay if I asked?

I had finished the present I had made for you. It is a dark green gi. I hope you like it. I'm sure that you are tired of wearing the same blue gi day in and day out, washing it every night. But when should I give it to you?

You've made me more uncertain than I've been in a long time, and being around you with my newfound feelings was making me nervous. I don't want you to know. I will always just smile, and be by your side until my blossoming dream comes to an end, and my time with you is up.

For you will leave. The only question is when. You don't have to tell me for me to know. You are an assassin. You kill only who you are told to, and leave when you are ordered. And I know you will not go against orders over something or someone as little as me. I know how strongly you believe in your ideals, and though I do not quite fully understand them myself, they are the foundation on which you stand, and nothing will stop you until you fulfill the promise you committed yourself to, and you will forever fight and you will forever kill until the true new age that you see in your dreams become everyone's reality.

The knowledge hurt, but I wont hide any more truths from myself. I lied to myself about loving Kenshin, and look where it got me. A ball of nervous goo if he ever even glances in my direction. I blink at the uncharacteristic thought. How odd for me to think that . . .

I heard you sigh and I darted my gaze back to you. You are walking towards me now, and I try not to let my nervousness show.

"Miss Jasmine?"

"Yes?" I look at you, and hope that you wont ask me what's wrong, because I know that I could never lie to you.

"Do you want me to leave?" Your voice was devoid of any emotion, and when I looked into your eyes, they were guarded.

Leave? What ever gave you that idea? I drop my eyes to my lap and think it is because the nervous glances I kept shooting at you. Kaoru, you idiot . . .

I fought to keep the tremor from my voice. "Why are you asking me?" Mou, my voice was nothing but a whisper. But at least it didn't tremble.

"You always seem nervous around me, and I will not stay if I am not welcome." You didn't hesitate in speaking. But then again, you rarely do.

I looked down at my lap, and contemplated on what to tell you. You were waiting patiently for my answer, but I didn't know what I could say that wouldn't give away too much on how I felt about you. "Kenshin . . . You are always welcome here. And I am not nervous for the reasons you think I am."

Your gaze was piercing into me, I knew, but I did not look up.

I couldn't force myself to look at you. My mask was slipping, and I didn't want you to read the emotions I knew shone clearly in my eyes. I did not want you to see the uncertainty, fear . . . or the love.

I felt rather than saw you nod, then you turned back around to do the laundry.

I've been called foolish, yes, but no one ever called me the coward I knew I was being, and I most especially didn't want you to see the shame. I was taking the coward's way out by hiding, and I knew it, and I was not proud.

But . . . there was something I could do . . .

When you turned away from me with a sigh that almost seemed resigned, I spoke in low tones to your back.

"Kenshin." You stop, but you did not turn around.

"Kamiya."

You turn your head at me, angling your body so you are only half facing me, and look at me with confusion.

With a burst of courage, I looked straight into your eyes and spoke the words that would tell you that yes, I did trust you.

"My name . . . is Kamiya Kaoru." I held your shocked eyes for only a moment before I dropped them back to my lap.

I did not see the tender smile curving your lips, before you turned away.

That man was here again. With the white bangs and the horrible, frightening eyes. He frightened me.

I wished you were here with me. With you standing by my side, I know I'd be able to feel safe. But ever since you've come to stay with me, you haven't come back in, and I wondered why.

Are you at some other tavern? With some other woman serving you? Does she care about you too? Or are you just another empty eyed stranger to her? Though you rarely look at me with that empty expression, it always appears when you drink. Err, stare at your drink.

I shake my head. It seemed that my conscious decided that my inner being wasn't spiced up enough, so it developed an odd sense of humor. Humor put aside, I nearly shiver when I feel cold eyes once again staring. Leave me alone . . .

I'm frightened, Kenshin. Where are you?

I lightly rap the side of my head with the heel of my palm, attempting to knock the thoughts out of my head.

When did I get so dependent on you? When I first met you, I thought my eyes and thoughts strayed to you because you were new to me and nothing more. You were handsome and kind. Freezing cold one minute, then burning amber flame the next. You intrigued me. You fascinated me. You frightened me. I wanted to know all about you-but I resisted.

I didn't want myself to want to know you. I didn't want to feel anticipation at night when I waited for you to return. I didn't want to hold my breath every time you joined me for lunch, and catch that slight look of appreciation whenever I cooked you a home cooked meal. I didn't want to notice how warm your eyes got when you smiled. I didn't want to be open to pain.

Loving you, I found out, was sometimes very trying on the heart.

But, I thought ruefully, it could not be helped. What was the saying I heard some boisterous men yell out earlier? Hook, line and sinker? Yes, that was how I was feeling at the moment.

I know who you are.

I know that you kill as your profession. But . . .

I also know . . . you.

Your eyes are always cold, and you never let anyone see what you are really thinking. Yet . . . I know that when I see your eyes soften ever so slightly, it is not a trick of the light. There is a soul in that body of yours. A kind and gentle side that you probably don't wish to acknowledge, but its there.

I know the feeling. When papa died, I didn't want to feel anything. I didn't want to feel pain, I didn't want to feel sorrow, I didn't want to feel period. So I stopped speaking and shut myself away from the world. Until you, that is.

I catch only a glimpse of you that first time you ever came in, and I think that was when my plan to stay cold melted away, and I found myself thinking about you more and more. I started feeling again. I started dreaming and imagining your face in my mind; that one glimpse I had of you, and I knew I was done for.

But I did not acknowledge it.

I pushed your image and the feelings aside, and convinced myself that it was nothing. But then you drank that one time . . . it was almost like I felt the pain you were hiding; felt it almost as deep as my own, and I found myself dreaming about you once again.

But we're friends now, aren't we? It's true that you have told me much about your past, while I have given you so little about mine. Yet I yearn to learn more.

But I cannot ask. I have no right asking, and you have no reason to tell me.

That feeling came back, the one of dread, and I tried to focus more on my task at hand: making miso soup.

Yes, you have no reason to tell me, and you also have no reason to stay. Unexpected anger rose inside me. Damn you Kenshin! I never needed anyone before! Nor have I ever wanted anybody! Then you come along and I find myself depending on you for heavens sake! I've never had anyone to depend on before, and now that you're here I find myself needing you more than I cared to.

Lies, Kaoru, all lies . . .

I slump down to the ground dejectively. Yes, it was all lies. I liked having you to depend on. I liked the knowledge of you being there when I get home at night. And I liked not being alone anymore.

Tears of despair rose in my eyes and clung to my eyelashes. And now you're leaving me alone . . . again . . .

Don't think. Don't.

I closed my eyes tightly, willing my thoughts away. Don't think about being alone. Don't think about anything.

I hear a rustling sound, then a soft, hesitant voice speak to me. "Kaoru- san? There is a man here wanting to speak to you . . ."

I slowly raise my head and look at the timid person. Kasane . . .

She has grown up very prettily; her dark brown hair long and wavy, and her black eyes filled with concern. I quietly wiped away my tears and donned my mask, then stood up to face her. She looked away, hurt and disappointment etched clearly on her face. "He . . . he claims to know you from awhile ago, and . . ."

My eyes soften ever so slightly, but I walk towards the door without looking at her again. I paused. "Thank you for the message . . . Kasane." I heard her gasp and the rustle of cloth as she swerves on her heel to my retreating form, but I ignore her and do not look back.

I walk to the counter and look around to whom might have called for me, not noticing the tall man that was only a few feet away leaning casually against the wall. "Well now," His deep voice calls. "There's the prettiest face I've seen since I left Tokyo! How 'bout you come over here and give me a hug?"

I turned my head to glare scathingly at the rude man, but my expression gave way to surprised delight, and smile spread across my face.

"Sanosuke!"