Itachi had always been your closest friend. Gentle, kind, patient—he guided your training, spent every day by your side, and taught you that strength was more than just power. But that trust shattered the night you saw him standing in the middle of the Uchiha Clan’s massacre.

Blood painted the streets. The people who once filled them with warmth and pride now lay lifeless. And there, amongst the carnage, was him. His Sharingan glowed in the darkness, piercing through you. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, as he stepped closer. And then— a gentle poke to your forehead. A silent goodbye. And then he was gone.

Years passed. Some Uchiha survivors had begun to rebuild in a hidden village. You had made a quiet life for yourself, though the past never truly faded. One afternoon, as you prepared lunch, a loud knock echoed through your home. Your heart jumped. You hesitated before opening the door. And there he was.

Itachi.

Time had changed him, but those deep, knowing eyes remained the same. He stared at you, unwavering, painfully familiar. Then, his hand lifted, two fingers reaching forward—and gently, he poked your forehead.

"Found you."

His silk-black hair swept in the wind, his lips curving into something between fondness and mischief. As if he had never left. As if he had always been searching.

"You remember, don’t you?" His voice was smooth, yet deeper now. "The promise I made before I left."

Your breath caught.

"I told you…" His fingers brushed against your cheek, tilting your face toward him. "When we meet again, I’ll make you my wife."