The scent of simmering miso and grilled vegetables curled through the air like a soft embrace, drifting down the narrow hallway and into the dimly lit bedroom where Sarada and Y/n sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by scattered drawing papers and dull-coloured crayons worn to their nubs.
The warmth of the kitchen always reached them first in scent, then in voice.
"Girls!" Sakura's voice called from the other room, light and sing-song in a way only mothers could manage after a long day. "Dinner's ready!"
Sarada's eyes lit up as if dinner were a festival in disguise.
She grabbed Y/n's hand without warning, tugging her along.
The two of them dashed out, their small feet padding on the tatami floor, leaving behind a trail of laughter that could have softened the edges of any tired soul.
In the kitchen, Sakura stood at the stove, stirring a pot with the kind of tired grace only she could carry, a smile gently curving her lips, strands of hair falling loose from her ponytail.
The kitchen was bathed in warm light, the kind that made the wooden shelves glow amber and turned steam rising from the miso into a dancing haze.
"What's for dinner?" Y/n asked as she peeked into the pot, standing on tiptoe.
"Your favourite," Sakura replied, her eyes crinkling with affection as she turned to set out the bowls.
The girls beamed, already crowding around the low table with the kind of excitement only children brought to routines that adults took for granted.
But the warmth flickered, briefly, like a candle catching a breath of wind when Sarada, hands folded politely in her lap, looked down at the table and mumbled, "Mama... when is Papa coming home?"
Sakura froze.
Not visibly, not entirely, but enough.
Her hand paused mid-reach for the chopsticks.
The steam that once felt like comfort now hung in the air like a curtain between what was said and what couldn't be.
Slowly, she knelt beside Sarada, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her daughter's ear as she had done a hundred times before.
"Papa's out doing very important work," Sakura said gently. "He can't come home just yet."
"Does he... not care about us?" Sarada's voice cracked like ice too thin to hold weight. "About me? About you and Y/n?"
That question hurt more than any wound Sakura had ever healed.
She reached forward and pulled them both into her arms, hugging them tightly against her chest.
Y/n felt the slight tremble in her mother's breath, even though her voice stayed steady.
"Your father treasures the three of us more than anything," Sakura whispered. "You might not understand now, but one day... you will."
"You're squeezing us!" Y/n protested through a giggle, her voice muffled against Sakura's chest.
"Oh- sorry!" Sakura laughed and let go, brushing their hair back and pressing a kiss to both foreheads. "I just can't help it. You two are way too cute."
The mood shifted again, lighter this time, like the wind that bends blades of grass but doesn't break them.
Sarada tilted her head and blinked curiously. "Mama, have you ever kissed Papa?"
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We're Different. | The Other Uchiha ✓ (Boruto)
FanfictionI was born an Uchiha. Raised by someone else. Forgotten by those who once knew me. In a village that never remembered my name, I chose to carve my own. A story about memory, belonging, and the pieces we can't erase, even when the world tries to. 𝐖�...
