Serendipity || Sasusaku

Chapter 9

Pale slender fingers traced the polished surface, swiping at the thin layer of dust which had accumulated over time. The desk, although fancily built, was bland with a stack of paperwork and a pencilbox; nothing like an artist would've preferred. Her hand stretched towards the plastic box, lingering but not touching, as she replayed a memory forgotten within the catacombs of her dazed mind.

Flashback

Sai was in the middle of painting when his vision was blinded with hues of rosy pink and emeralds. He stared at his wife blankly as she settled beside him and leaned her head on his shoulder, arms wrapping around his sculpted torso.

"What are you doing?" Her voice, light and airy, was muffled by his sleeve.

"Customising my pencil holder." He answered, gaze focused on the smooth texture of fresh paint.

"Ohh, Artists need to customize everything they own, right?" She didn't bother holding back the sarcasm.

"Yes."

"Even their wife?" There was a hint of mirth and something akin to want in her voice.

Sai felt his mouth tilt upwards, eyeing the paint brush for a moment before dragging the tip against her cheek,

"Specially their wife."

End of Flashback

A ghost of a smile touched her features as she recalled one of their loveliest (and oldest) memories. 'Mine' he had written upon her cheek, kissing it afterwards. He hadn't been able to finish painting that night for obvious reasons, but she had helped him customize his (and her) things from then on.

Until they stopped.

Her hand, hovering over the dull object, clenched into a fist, grasping at the illusions she had thought to be realities, moments she had relished in but never cherished. The hand still hovered, clenching, unclenching - succeeding, failing.

And then faltered under the ferocious weight of realization. Heaving a troubled breath, she drew it back, staring blankly at the slender limb for some burdening seconds before moving her way across the room. A marvellous portrait illustrating an age long forgotten, decorated the otherwise drab walls.

'Shinobi Era.' Sakura grazed the painting, astonished at it's breathtaking scenery and splendid details; It looked like a war, two armies engaged in a gruelling battle, their faces alight with patriotic rage and commitment, weapons glinting mercilessly under the scorching rays of evening sun. It was a picture that depicted an unspoken story in the most spectacular of ways and Sakura was awed.

"You were truly gifted, weren't you?" She whispered to the portrait, thumb tracing her husband's signature at the far end.

And then she moved, surveying the lavish office once again. Temari had told her to hand over the business to government officials or maybe even the Yamanakas, to appeal for a withdrawal from this case.

"The money?" Sakura had asked.

"Father will handle it. Or I can ask Shikamaru to cover what we can." Temari had assured her, pleading her to stay away, advising her to not get involved. And yet, here she was, standing in an office she had never stepped in before, visiting the place which had snatched her husband, her peace, her happiness from her.

'I don't want to give up without trying.' She had told herself.

And now giving up seems like the best solution.

Raking a hand through her rosy hair, Sakura moved towards the door and stopped. Her eyes found a frame, one she had missed before, for it laid on the ground behind the desk. Casting a hesitant glance around the room, she made her way towards the small frame. Hands quivering from anticipation, she wobbled slightly to the side before steadying herself against the desk.