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Spring in Konoha was the loveliest time of year. The flora bloomed, spreading delicate perfume via the gentle breeze. Leaves brushed against each other, creating the melody of the first equinox of the year. The sun shone onto the budding life, not yet heating as much as it would in the summer.
Uchiha Sumire gazed out onto her vast garden that surrounded her estate, basking in the contentment it brought her. Though she had at first disliked retiring from being a kunoichi, she knew her bones appreciated the reprieve.
There was an adjustment period after growing up during a seemingly endless war. The only thoughts in the Uchiha encampment for as long as she remembered was, “How do we defeat the Senju today battle?” But when she was nearing middle age, her leader Madara and Senju Hashirama established a peace treaty and founded Konoha. Many were disgruntled, but Sumire was mainly upset about the end of her shinobi career.
Since there was no longer the need for as many combatants, the older ninja were gently nudged to retire and shift their focus on building a future to pass on the will of fire. Sumire never cared much for the mumbo-jumbo, but she was pleasantly surprised to find that she enjoyed gardening. She helped cultivate the crops that the village used for fresh vegetables. Her contribution was crucial to the village in its infancy as agreements had not yet set up with merchants for necessary produce. The kunoichi had even started helping healers improve the yield for herbs.
As the village developed, Sumire found a meaningful venture that kept her busy and fulfilled her desire to make an impact on her community.
Sumire was enjoying her quiet Sunday morning sipping her magnolia tea when she heard it. Her eyes cut to the clock mounted on the kitchen wall. Nine in the morning, it read.
Like clockwork, she thought with an annoyed exhale.
The rustling in her garden and a head of white hair poking up from behind the hedges had become commonplace in Sumire’s garden. Every Sunday morning, a man would come and steal violets from her flower patch. The retired Uchiha let go of the first few passes. She then became curious at the pattern and how the stranger only went for the violets when there were prettier flowers around.
Now she was annoyed. Couldn’t he find flowers somewhere else? Her eyebrow twitched.
Gently setting her teacup on the table, Sumire rose from her seat and made her way towards the man.
At her unexpected movement, the man stiffened, and she saw red eyes—non-Uchiha red eyes—peer over the hedge before she even made it off her porch. She mused at how he reacted before she even made a sound. She didn’t think she was so out of practice that another shinobi heard her from such a distance. Her bones didn’t creek that loudly.
As she approached, the man did not back down or make to turn away to flee from being caught red-handed. She held back a snort. This’ll be good.
Though, Sumire was in for a surprise herself when she turned the corner of the hedge and was faced with the tall white-haired man with vermillion tattoos streaked across his cheeks and down his chin to match his eyes. She almost didn’t recognize the Hokage's brother dressed in plain black civilian clothing rather than the blue battle armor he was known for. His faceplate was also absent. Bundled in his hand were violets.
With a stiff spine, Sumire looked up at Senju Tobirama and barked, “Well, where’s the girl?”
That broke Tobirama’s blank expression, “Excuse me?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.
“The girl,” she placed her fists on her hips, “Clearly, there is a woman you are trying to woo if you keep coming here every week to uproot my flowers.”
With a clenched jaw, the Senju’s eyes broke away and fixed itself at a point over Sumire’s shoulder but remained silent.
Two can play at this game. She crossed her arm and started tapping her foot.
Tobirama, realizing this woman wasn’t going away anytime soon, unclenched his jaw and worked the tense muscle before meeting her gaze again, and bowing, “I apologize, obaa-san, this is the only place around I can find violets.”
Sumire’s foot slowly halted. She was shocked that the man knew which flower he was collecting, let alone the fact that he had searched for it elsewhere.
“Show me the girl,” she demanded.
Tobirama’s brow furrowed.
“If there is a woman so wonderful that you hunt violets down for her, I would like to meet her. Especially since it’s my garden, you are taking the liberty to use as the source,” she sniffed.
He opened his mouth to make a retort, but stunned Sumire yet again, by closing his mouth, turning away, and muttering, “Very well,” before starting his march.
The two traversed the evolving village, crossing the Naka River, skirting the market, and winding through streets approaching the village outskirts.
Along the journey, Sumire stole glances at the man beside her. She knew him to be the pragmatic right hand to the Senju clan head. Ruthless in battle and just as imposing outside the battlefield. And here he was matching pace with her, minding her advanced age. She didn’t know whether to be flattered or annoyed. She never thought she would see the day where she—an Uchiha—meandered so calmly with a Senju through a village where both clans knew peace. Yet here they were.
Something that bothered her was his expression. Maybe it was the fact that she forced him to take her along, but the Uchiha thought that for a man about to meet the love of his life for a date, he would be more cheerful.
She was about to make a comment when Tobirama’s steps slowed at the last bend.
The pair stood before the gates to the Konoha Cemetery.
Sumire was a hardened kunoichi that had known war most of her life. She had never been nervous before engaging in battle because she knew whatever the outcome, she had given it her all. So, the creeping unease that settled in the pit of her stomach, worsening at every step that brought them closer to the memorial, felt uncomfortable and unwelcome. She did not have many regrets in her life, but her demanding to make this trip quickly climbed to the top of that list.
With a rigid spine and shoulders back, Tobirama continued, intent on completing his journey.
They arrived at their destination.
The grave simply read ‘Haruno Sakura.’
Like the rest of the cemetery, the space around the stone was tidy, but there were several dried purple petals gnarled in the grass at the base—proof of his repeated visits.
Tobirama’s fist tightened on the bundle of fresh violets before he exhaled the breath he had been holding in and bent down to gently set the makeshift bouquet before the tombstone.
Crimson eyes burning more fiercely than any sharingan, Tobirama righted himself and started, “Sakura was--” he faltered before taking a shuddering breath and continuing, “Sakura was my partner. In every sense of the word. In battle, I could always rely on her to watch my back. She rivaled me in tactics and strategy. And She—she cared for me. She let me be someone other than Senju Tobirama, right hand of the Hokage; I was just Tobi. Sakura is the reason my brothers Itama and Kawarama are alive today, and why the casualties of war were limited. She was able to crush someone’s arm and mend the fractured bone, all within a minute. She was always one to put others before herself. Until the bitter end,” his voice was wet, and the anguish rang clearly throughout the graveyard, only rustling leaves, and Sumire’s shattering heart accompanied his harrowing narrative. “She died protecting and envoy of villagers from a shinobi that lost control of a tailed-beast after an attempt to become the biju’s vessel. Her sacrifice wasn’t in vain. Everyone else survived the attack.”
Sumire remained silent, allowing the Senju to voice his sentiments. After several minutes, he resumed.
“She always liked violets. She explained the hanakotoba meaning to me, ‘a small love,’ ‘sincerity,’ and ‘small bliss.’ I thought I was able to make sense of it, but then she told me why it meant so much to her. During the war, we didn’t have much time to ourselves, but the moments where we were able to simply enjoy each other’s company in the nearby meadow were enough for us. She would call it moments of small bliss.”
“She sounds like she was a marvelous kunoichi,” Sumire finally broke her silence, “I will allow you free range of any flowers in my garden, if you allow me to visit Sakura-san as well, separately of course,” the retired Uchiha did not want to impose on Tobirama’s time with his beloved.
“I think she would like that. If your attitude is anything to go by, I think you both would’ve gotten along perfectly,” he jested, eyes clearing, crimson cooling to vermillion.
“Oi, mind your tongue, brat. I don’t care who you are; you still need to respect your elders,” she crossed her arms, tucked them into her kimono sleeves.
He turned to look at her, “Of course, obaa-san. And thank you,” he bowed, drawing her attention, “It was nice to share of piece of Sakura today.”
She bowed in return, “Thank you for sharing. And, uh, apologies for being demanding earlier, it wasn’t my place.”
“I shouldn’t have raided your garden,” he replied, lips upturned.
“Come on, kid. I’ll make us some tea.”
On this spring day, bumblebees worked to pollinate plants, birds chirped their harmonies of content, and purple petals rustled in the breeze.