WHAT A GIRL WANTS (Modern AU SasuSaku )

Chapter One

(Author's note: The point of view (POV) always shifted between the author's POV and Sakura's POV only, so don't get confused since I wanted to make the story flow naturally).

Manhattan, New York, December 2005

Unbeknownst to me, today marked my final day in New York, the culmination of two summers and two Christmases spent with my foster parents, Adam and Margareth Whitney. They were an enchanting elderly couple, inseparable in their affection, their smiles as radiant as the sun and their cheeks aglow like ripe tomatoes, especially in the scorching heat. Adam, a retired lawyer, and Margareth, a former banker, had toiled tirelessly over the years, reaping the rewards in the form of a home nestled on a vast expanse of land where their twin Doberman dogs frolicked and chased one another.

In contrast to conventional Japanese familial expectations, their own twins, a son and a daughter, had chosen independent paths after high school graduation. They had woven their lives with their respective partners, distancing themselves from their parents. In Japan, turning eighteen bestows legal freedom to live wherever one pleases and engage in pre-marital relationships. However, marriage remains a deeply sacred institution, and forming a connection with one's future in-laws is considered indispensable. Parental involvement persists until an emotional or legal separation is formalized.

My future seemed likely to diverge considerably from that of the Whitney couple's children, who enjoyed the autonomy to navigate their own paths, be it for better or worse. It was noticeable that the Whitneys experienced solitude, particularly during the holiday season, when their children could have graced them with their presence, even sporadically, to alleviate the emptiness of their parents' twilight years during Christmas and Thanksgiving.

Thus, it was no surprise that when they "adopted" me, they were quite pleased, akin to adopting a charming, tail-wagging puppy rescued from the confines of a puppy mill. My quirky sense of humor, often lost on kids my age, brought laughter to the Whitneys' Christmas and Thanksgiving gatherings. Perhaps thinking about a career in nursing at a senior care facility might be worth considering, given my knack for humor that seemed well-suited for the elderly.

After the Christmas party with our neighbors concluded, my foster mom, with a curious look, asked me to follow her. I was genuinely puzzled but obliged, much like a curious kitten. I couldn't help but wonder where she was leading me to.

The hallway we ventured into was bathed in a soft, dim light, and the guardian's footsteps, though barely audible, seemed to carry a sense of anticipation. Each step she took echoed softly, like the subdued whispers of time held within the walls.

As we entered the room, a calm silence enveloped the air, and it felt like we had stepped into a world frozen in the amber of memory. Dust motes, stirred by our presence, danced in the slivers of sunlight filtering through heavy curtains. The room, adorned with faded wallpaper and aged furniture, bore the marks of time's tender but unyielding embrace.

"Come, my dear, into my daughter's old room. I want to share something special with you."

Her words carried a tone of quiet reverence, as if this room held sentimental value, and the memories it contained were treasures to be appreciated. She wore a gentle smile, and her eyes, deep pools of experience, cradled the weight of years gone by.

My curiosity peaked, and I stepped cautiously into the room, my gaze drifting over the faded wallpaper and aged furniture.

"What is it?"

My foster mom approached an old, weathered cupboard, its hinges protesting with a creak as she swung it open. Inside, a collection of elegant dresses lay waiting, their fabrics hinting at stories from a bygone era.