Romancing the Kazekage- A Gaara Love Story

The Story of Ai

How funny that the world should know how she felt; water fell from the skies as though heaven were weeping. She woke to the sound of it. Not the pitter patter she had been warned of in stories from her childhood, but the harsh drumbeat of heavy rain against glass. It was almost deafening; the rumble of wind that wrapped the House up in a damp chill coupled with the sloshing and thundering of raindrops. The world woke Ai to a sky that was declaring war. Her eyes opened slowly and she turned on her back, amidst a mess of blankets, to face the ceiling. Slowly, the canopy of her bed, black net with small black flowers, came into view as her eyes focussed. Ai breathed in deeply and stole a glance about herself; the black net of the curtains that fell around her bed gave the room an even greyer, duller look than she was used to. In Suna, her room had been full of gold, splendid light and teasing breezes; here, the stone was grey and cold, sealing her up in solitude. She sat slowly, stretching in an unladylike manner, stifling a yawn.

The month of August was nearing an end and she was coming up to her fourth week living in Koto. This was the affectionate nickname given by the working girls to their House. It is the second kanji in the House's full name (Suikinkutsu) and is the name of the traditional harp instrument used to accompany their dances. (A/N: this is completely true: Geisha in Japan used this instrument and it is indeed the middle Kanji of Suikinkutsu...I am just interrupting the narrative to boast about how amazing I am for making this work). She was still getting used to the way the place was run; no prayers in the morning, no lessons, just money to be counted and dance practices to be done. Ai had shut herself away in her room for these past few weeks, claiming she had unfinished business to report on with the Tea House. In truth, she sat on her bed all day reading poetry, trying desperately not to think of the boy she left behind.

Ai was constantly confined by her sorrow; some nights she would thrash in restless sleep, plagued by nightmares of being without him. Other nights she ached from the want of him. To feel Gaara's broad physique tense above her, to see his loving eyes soften in the candlelight as he loved her...she was beginning to forget his touch, his voice, his face. Perhaps it was for the better; the sooner she was rid of the thought of him, the less it would hurt. She came to this conclusion every night, but every morning the same hurt would nestle itself in her bones.

Today, she was sat in the dress she wore yesterday. Too miserable to dress herself, too angry to look her reflection in the eye; she went with uncombed hair to bed and had even kept her jewellery on. Sat now in a slightly cropped black shirt, giving a view of her belly button, and a long black skirt, her antique silver jewellery tingled in tune with the sound of the rain. Her attention was captivated by the sound; in Koto it rained almost every day but she had never heard it like this. It seemed to sound like her heart felt; heavy and unrelenting.

Parting the curtains of her bed, Ai slipped out of the tangle of bedsheets, and proceeded to walk to her balcony doors. Glimpsing herself in the mirror, Ai saw her messy bun, untidy and limp, and proceeded to let her hair down. Her dark hair fell to her hips and she frowned; a lot of the girls had made fun of her for keeping such long hair. They had asked why she sat so straight, why she buried her head in books and struck notes on the harp like a lowly musician. They had called her outdated and old fashioned; was it true? Picking up a black veil to match her clothes, Ai simply draped it on her shoulder and frowned; they had called her a bookworm, a librarian's daughter, a mute scholar, for all she did all day was read and speak a word to no one. She sighed and, as she blew a straying strand of her away from her eyes, began to walk towards the balcony. What use was there trying to fit in here? It's not like she was going to work with them any time soon.

As Ai approached the balcony doors; black iron and misted glass, she stood, stock still as though frightened; the colour outside the glass was a dark grey, but it was the early morning! Pushing open the doors Ai gasped; the sky was almost black with thick, angry looking clouds. Rain tumbled from the sky in an unholy rhythm and thumped against the dark stone of her balcony as though calling her out to meet the sky. The dancer took a deep breath of the fresh, damp air and it seemed to fill her up. It seemed the world knew exactly how she felt.