Reminiscing

Sen's POV

Becoming a full-fledged shinobi is nothing like being a paper ninja. The battlefield is unpredictable, filled with dangers at every turn, far removed from the relative comfort of village life. Of course, threats exist even within Konoha’s walls, but it’s still a far safer place than the open field.

For the past week, I’ve been training primarily with Kawarama and Itama. They’ve been patient and generous in teaching me, though I suppose it helps that we’re family. Their fighting styles are deeply rooted in Senju traditions, and despite the intensity of the sessions, I can already feel myself improving.

My routine has settled into a rhythm—mornings in the office as Shikaku’s assistant, followed by two hours of training at the Senju compound. Today marks the sixth day of training, and finally, it’s Saturday. Today, I get a break from both work and training. A well-earned rest.

Earlier this week, I moved into my own apartment. Grandmother and Mother weren’t thrilled about it, but I assured them I’d be fine. With training back in my life and my strength returning, I didn’t want to be coddled anymore.

Junpei is still out of the village, sent on a long-term mission that might take weeks. We never got around to that second date before he left. He had his mission, and I had to stay in the village for now. That’s just how things go sometimes.

Tonight feels like one of those rare, peaceful moments—just me, my space, and the quiet. My apartment is tidy enough, but I might check my books and fuinjutsu scrolls, see if they need dusting. Cooking is out of the question; I don’t have the energy for it. Ramen will do for dinner. I already grabbed takeout earlier—just need to heat it when I’m hungry.

I don’t mind people, but sometimes, silence is exactly what I need. And right now, this quiet solitude is something I cherish.

The apartment was silent, save for the occasional rustling of the wind against the window.The stillness of the night wrapped around me like a suffocating cloak, leaving me alone with my thoughts—thoughts I had been avoiding, thoughts I had buried under the weight of routine.

The near-death experience still lingered like a phantom in the back of my mind, an echo of fear I couldn't shake. I had already died once before, though the memory of it remained hazy, fragmented. But this time was different. I had felt it—the slow, suffocating grip of death closing in, the sheer helplessness of fading away. It had been terrifying, even more so because I knew what it meant.

I exhaled slowly, staring at my reflection in the dark window. The person looking back at me felt like a stranger sometimes—someone who wore a mask of indifference, of control, but underneath it all, there was a storm raging.

I hadn’t told anyone about these thoughts. What was the point? No one would understand this fear. How could they? They were born into this world with certainty. I wasn't. My very existence felt like a question that had no answer.

Maybe that was why I kept my distance. Why I seemed cold at times. It wasn’t just a habit—it was a shield. A way to keep from feeling too much, from getting too attached.

It was a quiet day in the office. Shikaku had recently hired a second assistant—a retired Aburame shinobi in his late thirties. Shiroko-san was just as reserved as Shikaku and I were. Whenever the three of us worked in the same room, there were no unnecessary conversations—only the soft rustle of papers and the steady scratch of pens filling the silence.

There would come a day when I would have to leave this desk behind, stepping fully into the life of a shinobi. When that time came, Shiroko-san would be ready to take over where I left off.

“Sen-san, these files have been signed properly. They need to be stored for the day,” Shiroko said, standing before me with a neat stack of documents—the finalized approvals for the upcoming yearly jonin inspections.

“Of course, Shiroko-san,” I replied with a small nod, rising from my seat. I took the files carefully and carried them to the archive room for safekeeping.

When I returned, my steps slowed at the unexpected sight before me—Kakashi, sitting casually across from my desk. I froze, a flicker of shock passing through me before I managed to steady myself.

He met my gaze silently, offering no greeting, no explanation.

Wordlessly, I moved to my chair and sat down, mirroring his quietness. Neither of us spoke. It felt like an unspoken staring contest had begun, each waiting for the other to break the silence first.

I wasn’t going to lose. He had come here to say something—and he would.

“Sen,” Kakashi spoke, his voice lower than usual, “it’s been a long time since we talked… privately.” His gaze dropped briefly before meeting mine again. “I can’t say what I need to here. Can we meet after you're done with work today?”

There was a tiredness in his eyes, something unspoken weighing down his shoulders. A flicker of sadness passed across his face—and it made my heart skip for a second.

“Of course, Kakashi,” I replied softly. “I’ll be done in half an hour at most. We can meet at the tea shop on the corner?”

I offered a small smile, hoping to ease whatever tension was between us. He nodded, but hesitated.

“Can we meet somewhere quieter?” he asked, almost apologetically. “I have a lot to say, and... I don’t want the distractions of a busy place.”

I studied him for a moment. His voice wasn’t sharp or guarded—it was thoughtful, maybe even vulnerable.

“Do you have somewhere in mind?” I asked gently.

“Yes,” he nodded. “I’ll wait for you outside the tower, and we can go from there. Is that okay?”

“That’s fine,” I said with a nod, my voice more composed than I felt.

There was a silence between us again—calm, slow, and uncertain. He gave me one last look, then turned and walked away without another word.

I sat back down, my eyes following his retreating form until he disappeared from view.

I think I already know what this is about. Or at least... I have a feeling.

A flutter of nervousness stirred in my chest. He seemed more serious than I expected. I wasn’t sure if he had spoken to Junpei, or if this was something else entirely.

Either way... I needed to be ready.

I finished work just as promised, packed up my things, and officially signed out for the day. My thoughts wandered as I walked, letting my steps slow with each passing minute. I wasn't in a rush—if anything, I needed the time to prepare myself.

As I exited the Jōnin Tower, I saw him. Kakashi was standing there, quietly, and his eyes immediately found mine. There was no smile, no greeting—just silence and something unreadable in his gaze.

I walked toward him, each step making me more aware of the tension building inside me. He looked at me again, but I still couldn’t quite read his expression. It unsettled me.

“I can take you there with Shunshin, if that’s alright?” he asked, his voice steady, but gentle.

“Umm… okay,” I replied, offering him my hand.

He reached out and took it without hesitation, then wrapped his arm around me. In a blink, the Shunshin no Jutsu enveloped us, and I instinctively shut my eyes. Being transported like this by someone else always felt strange—like I had no control over my body or senses.

It couldn't have taken more than a couple of minutes, but when we finally stopped and I opened my eyes, the sight around me left me speechless.

We were deep within a forest, the trees tall and ancient. From the faint, familiar chakra around us, I could tell—it was the Nara Forest.

He caught the confusion in my eyes and offered an explanation.

“This is the eastern edge of the Nara forest,” Kakashi said softly. “The Hatake clan compound is nearby. We’re in its backyard—where it meets the forest.”

“Oh,” I murmured, realization settling in. “That makes sense.” I smiled faintly.

“Come on,” he gestured with a tilt of his head, “there’s a good spot to sit and talk.”

I followed him down a narrow path, the soft crunch of leaves beneath our feet the only sound between us. Soon, we reached a quiet clearing with a small pond. Geese drifted across the water’s surface, and koi fish swam lazily below. The air was cooler here, tinged with the scent of moss and faint sakura.

It was serene—almost too serene for the heaviness I felt in my chest.

We sat side by side beneath a blooming sakura tree, the petals falling around us like soft snow.

The calm before something important. I could feel it in the air.

“I have a lot to say, Sen,” Kakashi began, his voice lower than usual, the words heavy with something unspoken. “But first… I want to apologize. For ignoring you when you were hurt and exhausted after the attack. What you told me—what you showed us—it shocked both me and my father. I couldn’t believe what might have happened. There are so many ‘what ifs.’” He looked at me then, finally meeting my eyes.

“Kakashi… why do you look so sad?” I asked gently. “You must stop tormenting yourself with what didn’t happen.”

“I know,” he nodded slowly. “I’m doing better now. But the world you showed me… it was darker than anything I’ve ever seen. I was completely alone. You didn’t even exist there. My father…” his voice faltered for a beat, “he took his own life. And I—what I became—I’m ashamed of it.”

He inhaled sharply, then offered a faint smile. “But I want to thank you. From the bottom of my heart, Sen. You didn’t do it for praise, I know that. But you need to understand—your decisions saved so many lives. In that world, almost all of us were either dead or hollowed out beyond recognition. But here… we’re alive. We’re whole. And my father… he’s safe. I’m lucky. We all are.”

I reached over and held his hand gently, offering a quiet comfort I knew he needed.

He glanced at our joined hands, then looked back at me, a flicker of something playful in his eyes. “And… on another note,” he added, “I talked to Junpei. Well, more like—Junpei talked to me.”

My heart skipped. “Oh? What did he say?” I asked, trying to sound casual, but the nervousness crept into my voice anyway.

“Sen,” he said, turning fully toward me, “we both like you. And if I’m reading this right… you still like both of us too, don’t you?”

He was still serious, but there was a teasing lilt hidden in his tone, like he was testing the waters.

“Yes,” I said without flinching. “I like both of you.” I smiled faintly.

I’m mentally an old woman. I should act like one.

He let out a soft chuckle. “So… are you open to a triad relationship?”

I tilted my head thoughtfully. “Hmm. We can work it out. But it needs to be slow. No rushing… and no space for doubts.”

He nodded, the tension melting just slightly between us, replaced by something quieter, more hopeful.

“I’m all in,” Kakashi murmured after a thoughtful pause, his voice steady with quiet resolve. “And I agree with you—it should be slow. None of us have ever been in a serious, long-term relationship before. And this… this isn’t just about two people anymore. There are three of us now. Each with our own thoughts, our own ways of feeling, reacting, existing.”

I gave a slow nod, taking in his words. They made sense. This wasn’t going to be a typical romance. It would require patience, communication, and trust—all in greater measure. I glanced down at our joined hands, wondering how three hearts could learn to beat in rhythm without stepping on one another.

He broke the brief silence between us. “We can stay here as long as you want.”

His eyes were on me again—not with intensity this time, but with a softness that matched the gentle rustle of wind in the sakura branches above.

“This place is so calm,” I whispered, letting the serenity wash over me. “I like these kinds of places… where it’s just me and nature.”

With that, I lay back on the cool grass, staring up through the pink-tinged canopy as the filtered sunlight danced over my skin. He remained seated beside me, watching quietly, almost like he didn’t want to disturb the moment.

“You can come here anytime,” he offered after a few seconds. “I’ll let Dad know. He won’t mind—you know how he is.”

“That would be lovely, Kakashi,” I replied, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

Everything around us was still, yet alive—the occasional rustle of leaves, distant bird calls echoing like soft music, the hush of wind weaving between the trees. Time seemed to stretch and slow in that sacred little corner of the forest.

After a moment, Kakashi tilted his head toward me. “How’s your training going with the twins?” he asked, his voice laced with genuine curiosity.

I turned to face him, propping myself up on one elbow. “Better than I expected, honestly. I never really focused on taijutsu before, so I’m putting in more effort than usual. It’s only been a week, but I can feel it—my stamina is slowly building up.”

I paused, then added thoughtfully, “Itama and Kawarama… they each have such distinct styles, if you pay attention. I never noticed that before, but now that I’m working closely with them, it’s clearer.”

A quiet hum of approval left Kakashi’s lips. “That you noticed means you’re moving in the right direction.” He reached for my hand again, his fingers lightly tracing mine with a gentle, grounding touch.

Neither of us said anything after that. We simply existed—side by side under the sakura tree, watching the shadows lengthen as the sun dipped lower in the sky.

Eventually, the forest began to darken, dusk settling like a soft curtain. Without a word, Kakashi stood and reached for me. I accepted his hand, and once again, he used shunshin to take us back.

In the blink of an eye, we stood outside my apartment. The evening air was cooler now, brushing past us like a secret.

He didn’t say anything, nor did I.

Somehow, words weren’t needed anymore.

“Come on, Kakashi,” I said softly, pressing my palm against the seal-etched door. The chakra locks shimmered faintly before clicking open with a sound that was both familiar and distant—like unlocking a memory.

He stepped in behind me, hesitating just past the threshold as I moved further into the apartment. I made a quiet beeline to the kitchen to prepare some tea. The air inside the apartment was still, carrying traces of old emotions sealed into the walls. When I glanced back, I saw him still standing in the center of the living room, not moving, simply absorbing.

His eyes roamed slowly across the space, as if expecting to find a version of me from a memory still lingering on the couch or curled up with a sketchpad in a sunlit corner.

“It feels surreal,” Kakashi murmured, voice low and caught somewhere between awe and melancholy. “I was here when we were together… and then you were gone. And now I’m here again. Life’s strange like that. We tried everything to open the seals, but nothing worked. Before Kushina could try something drastic, you came back. I was convinced I’d never step into this place again.”

His voice wrapped around me like the scent of old ink—familiar and faintly aching.

“Thank you, Kakashi,” I said from the kitchen, the clink of cups soft in the background. “For thinking about me… for caring that much. I never imagined you held onto us so deeply.”

“I didn’t either,” he confessed, settling onto the sofa with a heaviness that seemed to mirror the past weeks. “I only understood what I felt when I thought I’d lost you.”

I returned with a tray—two cups of warm tea and a small plate of sweet snacks—and sat beside him in silence. The moment didn’t need to be filled. It already brimmed with everything we hadn’t said for weeks.

After a beat, he looked around the room again, scanning quietly. “You know… I don’t see any of your drawings here.” He leaned forward and peeked under the table, eyebrows raising at the sight of pristine, untouched surfaces. Only a few rolled-up magazines remained.

I chuckled lightly but without real joy. “I stored them away for now,” I admitted, tucking my feet up beneath me. “It’s… hard to explain. I think I’m going through an artist’s block.”

Kakashi’s gaze returned to me, silent and open, waiting.

“I mean… I want to draw,” I continued, wrapping my hands around the warm ceramic mug. “It’s not like the passion is gone. But ever since everything happened—the attack, the shift—it’s like something inside me froze. Before the attack, I was already stressed, trying to keep things together. And when I came back… instead of being comforted by my pencils and sketchpads, I felt a wall. Like my mind was full of color, but my hands forgot how to translate it.”

I stared into the tea, watching the ripples still from my breath.

“That’s the worst part of an artist’s block,” I whispered, more to myself than to him. “It’s not about laziness or distraction. It’s like… your soul wants to speak, but the voice is muffled. And every time you sit down to begin, your fingers hesitate, haunted by the fear that nothing you make will matter, or worse—that it won’t feel like you anymore.”

Kakashi didn’t interrupt. He just sat there beside me, present. Listening.

“It’s been like this for weeks,” I added with a sigh. “I keep hoping I’ll wake up one day and feel that spark again. That pull to create without thinking.”

“You will,” he said gently, after a pause. “You just returned from a war of realities. You’re not broken, Sen… you’re healing. Even artists need time to breathe.”

I glanced at him, gratitude swelling in my chest. And maybe, just maybe, I started to believe him.

“There’s a lot I want to talk to you about,” Kakashi began, his voice quiet, his gaze fixed not on me but on the empty space between us—like he was carefully selecting his words from the air. “The revelations… and the life you’ve lived, Sen. I guess I don’t really know you that well. Only the parts you’ve let us see. I know you’re mentally older than me and Junpei, more experienced in many ways. But… still, it would mean a lot if you could share something with me. Something not tied to pain. Something just… you.”

His hesitance was like a small crack in his otherwise composed exterior, and I could tell it took effort for him to ask.

I gave a soft smile, more melancholic than warm. “There wasn’t much trauma in my past,” I said, stirring the tea between my hands like the motion could bring clarity. “I lived a fairly easy, safe life… until I died.”

The words left my mouth with a strange detachment, like narrating someone else’s story.

“I don’t even remember how it happened. The time… the place… the circumstances—they’re all foggy. But I do know that before that, I was happy. I had a full life. Loving, simple, human. And yet…” I paused, the smile fading slightly. “I feel like I’m forgetting the faces of the people I loved—my family, my friends, the ones who made me laugh, the ones I stayed up late talking with. It’s all slipping away. That’s why I don’t talk about it much. Because it hurts more when I try to remember. Like reaching for a dream that dissolves the moment you open your eyes.”

Kakashi's expression shifted, his eyes searching mine with a quiet sorrow. “I can’t imagine what that’s like… your situation, Sen. Honestly, I don’t think anyone can.”

Silence settled between us, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a shared stillness—full of things unsaid, yet understood.

“You can stay for dinner, Kakashi,” I said after a pause, getting up slowly. “I was planning to cook anyway.”

He stood as well, rolling up his sleeves slightly. “Then I’ll help. What’s on the menu?”

“I was thinking of one of my favorite dishes,” I replied with a nostalgic smile. “It’s paired with rice. It’s not from this world… but it’s something I’ve been craving. You can help me chop the ingredients, and I’ll handle the rest.”

He nodded, eager to assist.

The next hour passed in a comforting rhythm—onions being sliced, spices blooming in hot oil, the gentle bubbling of the pot filling the apartment with the rich, familiar scent of rajma—slow-cooked red kidney beans in a spiced tomato gravy, paired with steaming basmati rice. It was a classic dish from India. I had already soaked the beans that morning, somehow knowing that today, I’d need this taste of home.

Kakashi was a quick learner, meticulous with the knife as if prepping ingredients was a mission detail. He didn’t complain once when his eyes stung from the onions, and I couldn’t help but laugh as he cursed them under his breath.

When we finally sat down to eat, I watched as he took the first bite. His eyes widened just slightly, a pleased sound escaping him.

“This is… incredible,” he murmured, already reaching for a second helping. “What did you call it again?”

“Rajma Chawal which can be translated to Redbeans and Rice,” I said, grinning. “It’s simple, but it always feels like a warm hug from the inside.”

And tonight, that’s exactly what it was.

We ate slowly, savoring the food and the quiet. There was no need to fill the space with conversation anymore. Just being here—sharing this—was enough.

Eventually, Kakashi stood, brushing imaginary dust from his pants. “Thank you for the meal. And… for everything. I’ll leave you to rest now.” He lingered at the door, then turned back with a small smirk. “Let’s go on a date soon. I’ll let you pick the day.”

The door closed gently behind him.

I cleaned up without feeling tired. For the first time in a while, my body wasn’t heavy with exhaustion. My heart felt lighter, like a window had been opened after days of still air.

Talking with him… spending time like that… it helped.

I went to bed not out of weariness, but with a quiet peace wrapping around me like a soft blanket.

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎Hey everyone ❤️

Thank you so much for your patience and understanding. I’ve been dealing with a health issue that, unfortunately, turned out to be chronic. Coming to terms with that has been difficult—it left me feeling sad, lost, and honestly, quite depressed.

Writing has always been a source of comfort for me, but over the past weeks, I found myself losing the spark. Even this chapter took me nearly three weeks to finish. I wrote a little bit every day, pushing through the fog, and that’s the only reason it finally made its way to you.

I’m still stuck in an artist’s block, trying to pull myself out of it one step at a time. The entire story is clear in my mind—I know where it’s going and how it ends—but the motivation to bring it to life has been hard to find.

I’m not going to make any promises about future updates. Just know that I deeply appreciate your support, and I’m doing my best to return to the rhythm I once had.