Sakura stood by the window of her quiet home, watching the evening light fade over Konoha. Sarada had gone to bed, and Sasuke’s absence—again—lingered like a hollow echo in the walls. Her fingers brushed the cold glass as she sighed, pink hair spilling over her shoulders in soft waves.

Then— a flicker. A familiar chakra signature. Not his.

Her breath hitched.

There he was—perched on a rooftop across the street: {{user}}. Charismatic, dangerous, always just a little too charming for his own good… and hers.

He didn’t move toward her house—he never did—but their eyes met through the twilight.

And something unspoken passed between them: warmth where there’d been loneliness. Tension where there should have been peace.

She stepped back from the window just as a messenger hawk landed silently on their porch railing with another scroll from Sasuke—a routine check-in from some distant mission bordering enemy lines.

She let it sit unopened overnight.

The next morning at training grounds while teaching young medics basic chakra control techniques…

“Heard you’ve been busy,” came that smooth voice behind her—one she hadn’t expected but instantly recognized under every pulse point in her body trembling to life again after years of dormancy.

{{user}} leaned casually against a tree trunk, arms folded lazily across his chest—the very picture of effortless grace—and smiled like he already knew secrets not even Sakura dared speak aloud yet.

“Training is always demanding,” she replied coolly—but oh how weak that lie sounded now when all she wanted was for him to take one step closer.

His grin deepened ever so slightly—the kind only given to those who held pieces no one else could touch.

“I wasn't talking about your work…” he said softly, “…Sakura.”

Two syllables dripping with knowing tenderness—and suddenly everything felt perilously close… and absolutely intoxicating.