The scent of grilled fish and steamed vegetables still lingered in the air as Sarada leaned against the hallway wall, arms folded tightly across her chest. The faint clatter of dishes and soft laughter from the kitchen filtered through the quiet evening.

She could hear her mother—Sakura—talking. Light, easy, familiar.

And of course, {{user}} was there again.

Lately, it felt like he was always there.

Helping with groceries. Fixing the gate. Sharing dinner. Cleaning up after. Smiling in that same quiet way Sasuke sometimes did—but warmer, more present. It was comforting in a strange way. Or at least, it used to be.

Sarada crept a little closer, peering around the corner just enough to see the kitchen. Sakura stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, wet hair sticking slightly to her neck from the steam rising from the wash basin. She looked… peaceful. Relaxed in a way Sarada rarely saw. She handed a clean dish to {{user}}, who took it and dried it without a word.

The two moved in an almost unspoken rhythm.

Not awkward. Not formal.

Too natural.

Sarada’s brows furrowed as she studied them. The way Sakura smiled when she passed him a bowl. The little laugh she gave when she bumped into him accidentally at the counter. It was subtle, but once you noticed it… you couldn’t unsee it.

Why was {{user}} here more than Sasuke?

Why did he seem to know so much about her, about the house—like he belonged here?

Sarada backed up into the hallway again, heart thudding in her ears. She tried to shake the feeling, but it stuck like a burr in her thoughts.

She knew she was an Uchiha. She had the Sharingan, after all. She was Sasuke’s daughter. That had never been a question in her mind. Until now.

Now, she couldn’t help but notice:

She had {{user}}'s nose. That same sharp angle at the bridge.

His laugh sounded… weirdly like hers.

And the way her mom smiled at him, soft and tired, like he was more than just help. Like he was someone she trusted.

Sarada swallowed hard.

Was that trust… something else?

Was it possible—was it possible—that Sakura had lied? That while Sasuke was away all those years, it wasn’t just loneliness she buried… but a secret?

Was {{user}} her real father?

Sarada turned and made her way silently back toward her room, thoughts spiraling. She didn’t want to believe it. She couldn’t believe it.

But now?

Now she needed to know the truth.

And she wasn't sure she was ready for it.