A Letter of Love

Disclaimer: Naruto is Kishimoto's property. I'm not making any money from this story.

Warning: Morbid Content.

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"It was a day like this," Sakura mused, looking at the warm glow upon the sky through the open window, "I was standing in the garden. It was a beautiful day. Flowers were arranged on the tables. People were laughing." A blush spread on the cheeks there, and a smile danced on the lips. Reminiscing about that day brought back such fond, lovely memories.

Her heart shuddered, but she pressed her hand on her breast to talk some more. "Hinata looked so beautiful. It was her wedding day, you see," she paused and closed her eyes in a manner as though she was remembering that fateful day, "the sun was warm, but in a sweet way. The breeze was cool. Sakura flowers were still fresh. It was like a scene of love." And there were teeth in her smile now.

She canted her head a bit to the right and smoothed out the apron thoughtlessly with a tender touch of her hand. A soothing breeze caressed her face and drew out the past that slept in her stagnant memories. Shadows grew and slithered everywhere, and she watched, caught in her own little world: one swelled behind the china cups; and the other, behind his long-forgotten cloak. She cleaned it every morning and hung it on the peg with care. That was all she could do now.

Sakura let out a long sigh, grief invading her face, but her contours fought the sudden, violent assault, and she was smiling heartily again. Her eyes shone in the golden light. She did not want to think about his absence. It weighed heavy on her heart and soul, but she was strong—their bond was strong. It was not made to be fragile, with the threads created by mortal hands. No, Kami had intertwined their threads, and their reunion was ordained by the fates: they knew her to be an incipient lover of his ferocious ire and cool passion.

The shadow grew deep and black behind the cloak, and she pulled her gaze away with a new hope in her heart. "I felt so alone . . . " her voice trailed off and she seemed wounded, "Naruto was happy, but I needed someone by my side, too. I grew a little sad. I was happy for Naruto and Hinata—it was their wedding. Perhaps I was being selfish."

Cool breeze touched her again, and she felt the chill plumb the depths of her heart, turning her into a new raconteur with a different promise, a new face. Her smile broadened, and she began again, with more enthusiasm this time: "I'd lost all hope, but I heard a sound." She lifted her face up as if she could actually hear the hawk's call in the sky. "It was faint, but I knew who it was from," she spoke in awe, eyes shining like leaf-coloured jewels on her face.

"It swooped down on my arm—a brown coloured one. I don't know where he found it," Sakura said and her blush deepened still. Touching the soft trembling lips, she smiled a meaningful smile as if she had just recalled the passions they shared so many moons past. They, too, were just a dream . . . now.

"Oh, it had a letter and I took it out of the small tube," she spoke and made small gestures with her hands to convey a clear meaning, "it was from Sasuke-Kun—a congratulations letter for Naruto. It was a big day for Naruto and his best friend wasn't here. It must've been hard for him to be away from Naruto, but I think I understand."

She tucked hair behind her ear, still thinking about the day that changed everything. There was beauty in that thought and passion in these memories. "But he had sent something else, too," she broke off and pulled in a great breath that moved her bosom as though she was anticipating something, "it was a small jar filled with Sasuke's love. It was a testament to the fact that our hearts will always be connected. He had sent a small note with it, too."

Sakura nodded, her eyes widening under a spell of some divine revelation; then she leant forward and placed her hands on the rug. "You know what he said? Put this into your womb for insemination!" she spoke with elation, with pride, cheeks red as apples. "And that's how you were born!"

Sarada fingered her glasses, unsure of Sakura's happiness. It must have been something truly magnificent to move her mother to tears of joy. Still a girl child of five, she did not understand her mother, at all . . .

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The End