A Place Called Home - Chapter 2
This is sort of continuation of part 1 - gone with the wind. And also my submission for Borusara fanfiction week day 4 and is based on the dialogue prompt.
...
One Day
"I didn't really expect that you'd come." He said, a small surprise in his voice was visible.
"You did send a letter, didn't you?" she asked, sliding into the booth, her tone slightly irked.
A smirk curled upon his lips as he signalled for the waiter to come.
"My companion is here. Please bring the orders now."
"You have already ordered? How rude! You should ask your guest before you do that." She growled and he laughed.
"You're saying as if you're a stranger, Sarada." He says and Sarada bites her tongue in order to refrain herself from speaking something that would end up ruining the mood. The bare minimum of the time they had, she wanted nothing more than to cherish it.
As their food arrives, they resume their small talks between the eating. She would never want anyone to know how much she enjoys it and how it allows a hallucination on her part, making her feel some semblance to the normalcy that they have been struggling to find.
...
Boruto pulls a hood over his head as they exit that small bar-cum-restaurant. The weather is chilled so it doesn't look suspicious. They walk together, closer than necessary. Sarada is perfectly aware of the need that she feels to crave for his warmth, so she doesn't mind when their fingers brush and shoulders touch.
"They are about to make their move." His voice turns grave as he whispers into her ear.
He playfully nudges her but Sarada definitely feels the weight of a scroll pushed against her side pocket which previously was not present there.
"I know, but thank you."
"It's no big deal."
He slightly falters when the bridge comes into view. The point of their separation. But weirdly enough, he stops and leans against the wall, pulls out a cigarette and burns the top to puff out smoke.
She leans beside him, a constant dull ache reminding her of the changes that have occurred in him. And the methods he is using to cope up with them.
"Since when did you smoke?"
"For a year now."
A sorrow envelopes her, and the twisting in her heart doesn't help and she says without thinking twice.
"You're wrong."
"Huh? What are you talking about?"
“I haven’t seen you for so long that I feel like we are strangers now.”
He stays silent at those words, maybe contemplating the recklessness of ignoring the delicacy of the situation and Sarada hates herself for doing what she shouldn't have. But, still, there are a few questions she needs the answers to.
"When will you be coming home back?"
She wants to sob but that would only complicate things further.
"My work is not done yet, Sarada. Please have patience. I swear I'll return home back one day. I promise."
...
She sees him leaving into the night, her eyes taking in his broad back, trying to ingrain every detail of his appearance, his posture and his words and voice in her memory, a lone tear slipping down her cheek.
It hurts when she sees his silhouette vanishing off in thin air when he reaches the other side of the bridge.
One day, you'll return.
I live with that hope too.
...
Back in the safe confines of her home, when she pulls out the scroll, a note falls out of her pocket.
She knows that she can recognise the curvy messy scrawl anywhere.
The orders were you're favourites, right?
We're not strangers, Sarada.
We never were and we'll never be.
...
The next part will be the last part and also the end of this tiny series. Not much again, but I'll still say let me know your thoughts, everyone! Please!
