The Name That Was Crossed Out

by bbee7117

Summary:

Sarada accidentally drops a love letter written to an unnamed person. Boruto picks it up and is shocked

The late afternoon sun spilled golden light across the village, casting long shadows of the Hokage Monument behind Sarada as she walked along the main path. Her hair swayed with her steps, glasses catching the sunlight in brief, glimmering flares. She looked composed on the outside, but her fingers gripped a folded paper tightly—too tightly.

 

She didn’t notice when it slipped from her hand, caught by a small breeze and twirling to the ground behind her.

 

Boruto, walking just a few meters behind, paused mid-step as the paper fluttered to a stop near his foot.

 

“Huh?” he muttered, stooping to pick it up.

 

It wasn’t until he saw her neat handwriting, the familiar loop of her letters, that curiosity took over his usual sense of boundaries. His thumb hesitated over the edge—he shouldn’t read it. He knew that.

 

But he did.

 

His eyes skimmed the lines quickly, growing wider with every word.

 

“To the one who lingers in my mind more than I’d like to admit…”

“You’re like the fire that never dies in me, a warmth I deny yet crave.”

“Your eyes haunt me, your voice calms me, your presence—”

“No, I’m not saying this. I can’t. You’ll never feel the same.”

 

At the bottom, a name had been written. Then messily crossed out in a panic.

 

“Bo—”

 

Boruto stared at it like it had physically struck him. His heart thudded, uneven and hot in his chest. His stomach churned.

 

Someone had stolen her heart.

 

But not him?

 

He clenched the note in his hand, veins popping at his temples. His expression darkened, shifting from confusion to jealousy to quiet, dangerous rage.

 

Who?

 

Who could she be writing to?

 

Why wasn’t it him?

 

She was supposed to be—No. He never said it. Never told her how he felt. He thought he had time. That maybe she already knew. That maybe… she’d just wait.

 

His footsteps were quick now. Furious, even. His mind swam with names. Who had been around her lately? That idiot guy from the archives? Iwabe? No, someone from the village council?

 

“BORUTO!”

 

He stopped. Shikadai had called from a bench under a tree, waving lazily. But as Boruto turned, Shikadai’s eyes narrowed.

 

“You good?” he asked, sitting up straighter. “You look like you’re about to murder someone.”

 

Boruto didn’t answer at first. He just stormed over, shoved the crumpled paper at Shikadai.

 

“She dropped this,” he muttered.

 

Shikadai took it with an arched brow, smoothing the folds, and read it silently.

 

His sharp mind didn’t miss the crossed-out name.

 

“…Oh.”

 

“Yeah. ‘Oh,’” Boruto echoed bitterly. “You know who it’s about?”

 

“No,” Shikadai lied. Because he did know.

 

He had known for a long time that Sarada had feelings for Boruto. She was subtle, but her gaze always lingered a little too long, her words held too much weight, and when Boruto wasn’t looking—Shikadai had seen the truth.

 

But now she was afraid.

 

Afraid enough to hide it.

 

To cross his name out.

 

“Someone’s taken her heart,” Boruto growled, standing up and cracking his knuckles. “I’m not gonna let that happen.”

 

“Really?” Shikadai asked calmly, folding the note and slipping it back to him. “Then tell her how you feel before someone else does.”

 

Boruto hesitated.

 

He’d always been bold. Reckless even. But not with Sarada.

 

Not with this.

 

“What if it’s too late?” he whispered, almost to himself.

 

Shikadai smiled faintly. “It’s only too late if you stay quiet.”

 

The next morning came far too fast.

 

Team 7 was assigned a new mission—escort a confidential scroll to the Kazekage’s council in Sunagakure. Routine enough, but the timing couldn’t have been worse for Boruto, whose mind was still a battlefield of emotions.

 

He barely looked Sarada’s way when they gathered at the village gate. He shoved his hands into his pockets, brows drawn low, mouth in a grim line.

 

Sarada, oblivious to the note he read, glanced at him. “You good?”

 

“Fine,” Boruto snapped, too fast, too harsh.

 

Mitsuki raised an eyebrow. “You’re lying.”

 

Boruto ignored him.

 

They began their journey through the desert pass, and it didn’t take long before Sarada noticed something was… off.

 

He was quiet at first. Then annoyingly loud.

 

Then unreasonably irritated when she walked a few steps behind him.

 

“Keep up, Sarada,” he muttered. “Unless you’re too distracted thinking about someone else.”

 

Sarada frowned. “What’s your problem?”

 

“Nothing. Just wondering who’s lucky enough to get a love letter from you.”

 

She froze.

 

Boruto didn’t turn. He pretended to adjust his gear but peeked at her from the corner of his eye.

 

Her silence stretched long. Her hand instinctively went to her pouch—where the note should have been.

 

“You dropped it,” he said sharply. “Yesterday.”

 

Her eyes snapped to his. “You read it?”

 

His smirk twitched into something bitter. “It wasn’t sealed. Guess I’m lucky, huh?”

 

Sarada’s fists clenched. “You had no right.”

 

“Yeah, well, you had no reason to—” he stopped himself, turning away before the heat in his voice betrayed what he really wanted to say.

 

She didn’t answer. The weight of the confrontation pressed thick between them until Mitsuki—still walking ahead—called out: “If you two are done flirting and fighting, we’re about to enter Wind Country. Let’s move.”

 

Boruto grumbled something and pushed ahead. But the silence now was different—tense, uncomfortable.

 

Later that evening, camped beneath a small overhang of rock, Boruto swung between hot and cold like desert winds.

 

One moment, he was distant, throwing rocks at nothing.

 

The next, he was sitting beside Sarada, his voice suddenly softer. “Your hair looks… different today.”

 

She glanced at him suspiciously. “What’s going on with you?”

 

“Nothing,” he said, smiling—but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just thinking maybe I should write you a letter too. Or maybe a poem. Would that get your attention?”

 

Sarada narrowed her eyes. “Are you mocking me?”

 

“Not unless it worked.”

 

She stood, walking away without another word.

 

Boruto slumped back against the rock, dragging a hand down his face.

 

“What am I even doing…?” he muttered.

 

Mitsuki walked over, sitting beside him, eerily quiet.

 

“You know,” Mitsuki said after a pause, “if you keep pretending, you’re going to push her away. And if you don’t pretend, she might still surprise you.”

 

“Since when are you a love guru?”

 

“I’m just an observer,” Mitsuki smiled faintly. “And right now, your behavior is… wildly unbalanced.”

 

Boruto threw a pebble at him.

 

 

 

They arrived in Sunagakure the next afternoon, and the city of sand greeted them with hot winds and thick tension.

 

The moment they crossed the border checkpoint, a familiar figure approached—Shinki.

 

He stood tall and composed, arms crossed, black iron sand cloak fluttering faintly. His sharp eyes zeroed in on the trio, but lingered a little too long on Sarada.

 

And she smiled.

 

Not a casual smile. Not a polite one either.

 

Something… softer.

 

Boruto’s heart skipped. Then plummeted.

 

“There you are,” Shinki said. “We’ve been expecting you. You’ll be staying near the central compound. I’ll take you there.”

 

Sarada stepped forward. “It’s good to see you again.”

 

Shinki nodded. “Likewise.”

 

Boruto stepped forward too, shoulders squared, jaw tight. “Didn’t know you two were so close.”

 

Sarada blinked. “We’re not. We just fought together during the last alliance drill.”

 

“Right,” Boruto muttered, glaring at Shinki.

 

The walk to the compound was full of shallow sand and deep silence. Shinki talked mostly to Sarada—low, calm, steady—and she listened attentively, even asking questions.

 

Boruto lagged behind, his chakra flaring in short, angry pulses. Mitsuki sighed and stayed between them like a silent referee.

 

Once inside the guest quarters, Boruto finally snapped.

 

“Do you like him?”

 

Sarada looked up from setting her scrolls down. “What?”

 

“Shinki,” Boruto growled. “Is he the one the letter was for?”

 

She looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “Are you serious?”

 

He stepped closer. “You smiled at him. You barely smiled at me all week!”

 

“Because you’ve been acting like a moody idiot!”

 

“So you do like him.”

 

“I didn’t say that!”

 

“Then who was it for?!”

 

Silence.

 

Then a whisper.

 

“You weren’t supposed to read that.”

 

He stared at her, breathing hard.

 

“I’m going for a walk,” she said quietly, brushing past him and leaving the room.

 

Boruto stood there, fists clenched, head spinning with doubt, jealousy… and a growing fear that whoever the letter was for—it wasn’t him.

 

The next day, the mission formally ended with the scroll safely delivered to the Kazekage’s council. Team 7 was granted a short reprieve before their journey back to Konoha.

 

While Mitsuki wandered off to explore the outer market alone, Boruto hung back in their guest room, brooding. He hadn’t spoken to Sarada since the argument last night. Every time he replayed it in his head, her silence hit harder than her words.

 

Then she was suddenly gone.

 

When he asked the attendant where she went, they told him she left about fifteen minutes ago—with Shinki.

 

His blood boiled.

 

Without thinking, Boruto stormed out into the golden streets of Sunagakure, the sun glaring overhead. He walked quickly, ignoring the sweat on his forehead, the sand in his boots, the knot tightening in his chest.

 

He found them sitting together at a small tea shop shaded by a draped canvas roof.

 

Shinki looked calm as ever, sipping his tea slowly, offering Sarada a gentle nod. Sarada laughed lightly at something he said.

 

Boruto froze.

 

She laughed.

 

The kind of laugh she used to share with him. Now she was sharing it with Shinki.

 

And something inside him snapped.

 

He marched right up to their table.

 

“What’s going on here?” he asked, voice sharp and accusing.

 

Sarada blinked. “Boruto? What are you doing here?”

 

“I should ask you that.”

 

Shinki raised an eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”

 

Boruto scoffed, crossing his arms. “Didn’t know we were free to go on casual dates in the middle of a mission.”

 

“It’s not a date!” Sarada said quickly, standing up. “Shinki offered to take me to this place—he said they had good jasmine tea and—”

 

“Oh, jasmine tea, huh?” Boruto interrupted, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “What’s next? Matching headbands?”

 

Sarada’s eyes narrowed. “What is wrong with you?”

 

“What’s wrong with me? You disappear with this guy, don’t say a word, and I’m the one who’s wrong?!”

 

“You’re being ridiculous!”

 

“And you’re defending him now?”

 

“I’m not defending anyone! I’m trying to calm you down—”

 

“I don’t need calming down!”

 

“Then what do you need, Boruto?!”

 

He stared at her, jaw clenched, eyes burning. But instead of answering, he turned and walked away.

 

Sarada didn’t follow him.

 

 

 

Boruto found a shaded corner of the village and sat on a crumbling stone wall, arms on his knees, face hidden.

 

Minutes later, Mitsuki found him.

 

He didn’t speak at first. Just stood nearby, watching the wind kick up dust.

 

“You saw them too?” Boruto asked bitterly.

 

“I saw everything,” Mitsuki replied, voice even. “But you already knew she’d be spending time with him.”

 

Boruto didn’t respond.

 

After a moment, Mitsuki sat beside him.

 

Boruto sighed, letting his head fall back. “Why does it piss me off so much?”

 

“Because you care.”

 

Boruto snorted. “Yeah, no kidding.”

 

“No,” Mitsuki said, turning toward him, “I mean you really care. You’re not just jealous. You’re afraid.”

 

Boruto tensed.

 

“I know you read that note,” Mitsuki added.

 

Boruto’s fists tightened.

 

“She didn’t want anyone to read it. But now you can’t stop thinking about it.”

 

Boruto finally spoke. “It’s not just the letter. It’s… everything.”

 

He stared out at the skyline of sand and rooftops.

 

“She’s always been this strong, focused person. I liked that about her. But now I feel like I’m… falling behind. Like maybe she’s grown out of me.”

 

Mitsuki listened silently.

 

“And then Shinki shows up, and he’s all calm, reliable, smart—he’s probably exactly her type. And I’m just… some idiot who can’t even tell her how I feel without yelling.”

 

He laughed without humor.

 

“She tried to calm me down back there. And I just yelled again. Because in my head, it felt like she was choosing him.”

 

Mitsuki’s voice was soft. “But she didn’t.”

 

Boruto looked at him.

 

“She didn’t choose anyone,” Mitsuki said. “You’re the only one who’s turned this into a fight.”

 

Boruto dropped his gaze.

 

“I don’t know what to do.”

 

“Stop pushing her away.”

 

Easier said than done.

 

 

 

Meanwhile, Sarada sat in the tea shop, her cup untouched, hands clasped tightly in her lap.

 

Shinki watched her quietly.

 

“You’re not used to him acting like that,” he said.

 

She shook her head. “No. He’s always been impulsive, but… this is different.”

 

“You care about him.”

 

Sarada looked away. “He doesn’t know what he wants.”

 

Shinki sipped his tea. “You sure about that?”

 

She sighed. “Even if he does… he’s scared to admit it. And I’m tired of waiting for him to catch up.”

 

There was a pause.

 

Shinki’s voice dropped low. “Then maybe it’s time he realizes that if he waits too long, he might lose something he never had the courage to ask for.”

 

Sarada didn’t answer.

 

But the sadness in her eyes said enough.

 

The Sunagakure sky turned golden-orange as the sun dipped toward the horizon. Despite the day’s tension, duty came first.

 

Team 7 was requested for an impromptu scouting mission just outside the village—a group of rogue shinobi had been spotted circling the trade routes, and the Kazekage wanted confirmation before mobilizing his own units.

 

Boruto tightened his headband. He hadn’t spoken to Sarada since the tea shop blow-up. The silence between them was suffocating.

 

Mitsuki walked ahead, gaze calm as always. Sarada kept to the left side of the trail, eyes on the horizon, saying nothing.

 

Boruto stayed just far enough away to avoid brushing against her.

 

They moved through the sand valley with practiced stealth—ears open, chakra low, senses sharp.

 

But Boruto’s mind wasn’t on the mission.

 

You’re defending him now?

She smiled at him.

Maybe she’s grown out of me.

 

He clenched his fists.

 

Sarada glanced at him once—just once—but looked away quickly. That stung more than anything.

 

An hour into the march, Mitsuki paused, raising a hand.

 

“Movement. Three o’clock.”

 

The team instantly ducked behind a crumbling sandstone formation. From the ridge above, three masked figures surveyed the trade path below.

 

“Scouts,” Mitsuki whispered. “Possibly waiting for backup.”

 

“We can’t fight them head-on,” Sarada said. “We don’t know how many more are around.”

 

Boruto didn’t reply. He was already moving, stealthing toward a better vantage point.

 

Sarada hissed, “Boruto—wait!”

 

He ignored her.

 

The second Boruto reached higher ground, he caught sight of a fourth figure—much closer than the others. A kunai already in hand.

 

“Behind you!” Sarada shouted.

 

Boruto ducked just in time, parrying the ambush with a sharp grunt. The rogue shinobi’s blade skimmed his shoulder.

 

Then chaos erupted.

 

The other three scouts jumped down. Mitsuki engaged two at once with his snake-like extensions while Sarada launched herself toward Boruto’s attacker, Sharingan blazing.

 

“Stay behind me!” she ordered.

 

“I don’t need protecting!” Boruto snapped, shoving forward again, even though blood was soaking his sleeve.

 

“You’re bleeding!”

 

“I’ve had worse.”

 

The fight ended quickly, thanks to Sarada and Mitsuki’s coordination. The attackers retreated once two were incapacitated and one vanished in a cloud of smoke.

 

Boruto stumbled back, panting, blood staining his jacket.

 

Sarada stormed over, grabbing his arm.

 

“You’re so reckless!” she shouted, voice trembling. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed!”

 

Boruto pulled away. “Why do you care? I thought you had someone better to worry about!”

 

Her eyes widened.

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

He didn’t answer. The wind howled between them like the space that had been growing for days.

 

“Enough,” she said, voice shaking. “You’ve been acting weird ever since we got here. First cold, then angry, then flirty, now this? What is going on with you, Boruto?!”

 

He looked away.

 

“Say it,” she demanded. “If you’ve got a problem with me and Shinki—just say it!”

 

“I saw the letter!” he blurted, finally turning to face her. “The one you dropped! The one with all the… the stupid poem and the crossed-out name.”

 

Sarada went pale.

 

“Yeah,” Boruto went on, voice cracking, “I read it. And ever since, I’ve been trying to figure out who the hell you wrote it for. Who’s got your heart, Sarada?”

 

She stared at him, lips parted in shock.

 

“Because I look at you, and I see the way you talk to him. And maybe I’m just some idiot who never had a chance to begin with!”

 

Silence.

 

Only the wind and Mitsuki’s distant footsteps.

 

Sarada took a shaky breath. “You think… I wrote that for Shinki?”

 

Boruto’s jaw locked.

 

“I didn’t write that for Shinki,” she said softly.

 

His eyes flickered. “Then who—”

 

“I wrote it for someone who probably doesn’t even see me,” she muttered, brushing past him. “But I guess I was wrong. He sees me just fine. He just doesn’t understand what he’s looking at.”

 

She disappeared into the shadows of the trail, leaving Boruto frozen in place.

 

 

 

Back at the outpost, Mitsuki sat beside Boruto on the rooftop of the inn. Below, lanterns flickered in the night breeze. Boruto hadn’t moved in nearly an hour.

 

“You look like you’ve been hit by a Rasengan,” Mitsuki said casually.

 

Boruto didn’t laugh.

 

“I screwed up.”

 

“Yes,” Mitsuki agreed.

 

Boruto frowned. “Thanks for the support.”

 

“I support you by telling you the truth.”

 

Boruto pulled his knees up. “I thought she liked someone else. I thought I was being replaced. And I let that fear turn me into someone I hate.”

 

Mitsuki nodded slowly. “That happens when you care too much, and say too little.”

 

Boruto looked out across the dunes. “I need to fix this.”

 

“Then talk to her. But this time, don’t yell.”

 

Boruto smiled faintly. “I’ll try.”

 

 

Sarada wiped the dried blood from her gloves, but no amount of scrubbing erased the sting in her chest.

 

Boruto’s voice still echoed in her head:

 

“Who’s got your heart, Sarada?”

 

She leaned against the cold stone wall of the outpost’s back hall, clutching the cloth tightly. Her hands were trembling.

 

She hated how easily he could unravel her.

 

Not the rogue shinobi. Not the wound on his shoulder. But him. The look in his eyes, the accusation in his voice—as if she had betrayed him by having feelings at all.

 

He saw the letter.

 

Her heart sank. That note wasn’t meant for anyone’s eyes. Especially not his.

 

It had been tucked into her notebook for weeks, scribbled out after a long night of frustration. She never meant to send it. She wasn’t even sure why she wrote it—just some desperate attempt to express feelings she couldn’t say aloud.

 

You make me feel like lightning and silence at the same time.

You’re everything I pretend not to want.

 

She crossed out his name because she couldn’t bear to admit it—even on paper.

 

But now he knows.

 

And worst of all… he thought it was about someone else.

 

Sarada paced the empty corridor, arms crossed tightly.

 

What hurt the most wasn’t that he read it.

 

It was that he assumed.

 

He didn’t ask her. He didn’t talk to her. He just… exploded. Accused. Threw her connection with Shinki in her face like a weapon.

 

As if she hadn’t waited years for him to open his eyes.

 

Her stomach twisted.

 

When she shouted at him—“Say it!”—she hoped he’d finally confess something real. That all the flirty glances and mixed signals weren’t just… mood swings.

 

But instead, he turned everything into doubt and jealousy.

 

And then he looked at her like she was the one who had betrayed him.

 

She leaned her head back against the wall, exhaling slowly.

 

She hated this—this war between love and logic. Between being the strong, focused shinobi… and being a girl with a heart that was always too full when it came to him.

 

How long had she been waiting?

 

Since they were kids, probably.

 

Since the first time he made her laugh at something dumb and refused to admit he was blushing. Since he protected her even when she didn’t need it. Since he called her annoying but always came back anyway.

 

And slowly, over time, that stubborn idiot with spiky hair and wild eyes had carved a permanent place inside her.

 

But now that he finally saw her feelings, he responded with nothing but confusion and blame.

 

Like her heart was something he deserved to know but not to understand.

 

Maybe Mitsuki was right.

Boruto didn’t see what was in front of him.

 

Or maybe… he just wasn’t ready.

 

And that terrified her more than anything.

 

Because if he wasn’t ready now, after everything they’d been through—would he ever be?

 

 

 

A soft knock broke her thoughts.

 

“Come in,” she said quietly.

 

It was Temari. She held two cups of steaming tea.

 

“I figured you needed this,” she said gently, walking in and handing one to Sarada.

 

Sarada nodded gratefully and took it with both hands.

 

Temari sat on the edge of the small bed. “You’ve got the same expression I used to have when I fought with Shikamaru.”

 

Sarada gave a faint smile. “Except Boruto and I aren’t together.”

 

Temari raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t mean the feelings aren’t real.”

 

Sarada looked down at the cup. “He read a letter I wrote… a really personal one. And he thought it was about someone else.”

 

Temari sipped her tea. “And you didn’t tell him otherwise?”

 

“I did,” Sarada muttered. “But by then he was already angry. Accusing. Like I’d been hiding something. Like I chose someone else.”

 

“Did you?”

 

“No,” she said immediately. “I only ever chose him.”

 

Temari smiled sadly. “Sometimes the person we choose is the one least ready to be chosen.”

 

Sarada’s throat tightened. “I don’t know if I should wait anymore.”

 

“You don’t have to. But… if you don’t tell him what that letter really meant, he’ll carry the wrong truth with him.”

 

Sarada closed her eyes.

 

The words she had written were still fresh in her memory—raw and honest.

 

Maybe it was time she stopped hiding behind silence.

 

 

 

Later that night, she stood by the outpost rooftop, looking at the stars alone.

 

She didn’t know if Boruto would come.

 

But part of her hoped he would.

 

Even if he didn’t say anything.

 

Even if he just stood beside her, like he always used to.

 

Because under all the frustration, all the shouting, and all the heartbreak…

 

She still loved him.

 

Even if it hurt.

 

Boruto had faced rogue ninjas, deadly missions, and monsters born from chakra itself.

 

But right now, nothing scared him more than talking to Sarada.

 

He stood on the edge of the outpost’s rooftop, watching her silhouette just a few feet away. She leaned against the railing, quiet and still, her dark hair swaying in the wind.

 

You can do this, he told himself. Just walk over, say you’re sorry, explain what happened, and maybe—

 

She turned slightly.

 

He froze.

 

His feet refused to move.

 

Coward.

 

For the third time that night, he chickened out and backed away.

 

 

 

The next morning, Lady Temari requested a follow-up sweep around the southern perimeter. Something about a missing merchant and faint chakra trails.

 

It wasn’t urgent, but it needed doing—and she clearly trusted Team 7.

 

Boruto felt a flicker of hope. Another chance.

 

A small mission. Just the three of them again.

 

Maybe… maybe this time, he’d get it right.

 

 

 

The desert was quieter today. No ambushes, no threats—just wind and the crunch of sand beneath their feet.

 

Mitsuki walked ahead, silent and focused.

 

Sarada stayed back, next to Boruto—but not with him. She hadn’t said a word since they left the outpost.

 

The gap between them was only a few feet wide, but it felt like a canyon.

 

Say something, he begged himself.

 

“I, uh… patched my jacket.”

 

Sarada blinked and gave him a sideways glance. “Oh.”

 

Smooth, Boruto. Real smooth.

 

He cleared his throat. “About yesterday…”

 

She stopped walking.

 

He stopped too, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot.

 

She looked up at him, eyes unreadable behind her glasses. “You were going to say something?”

 

Boruto scratched the back of his head. “Yeah. I mean—what I said yesterday—about the letter, and Shinki, and everything… I didn’t mean to explode on you.”

 

Sarada said nothing.

 

“I just—I didn’t know what it meant. The letter. And it scared me. I guess I thought maybe someone else saw you… y’know, the way I…”

 

He trailed off. Coward.

 

“I was jealous,” he said quickly. “Okay? That’s it. I saw you with Shinki, smiling and laughing, and I thought… maybe he got there first. Maybe I missed my chance.”

 

Sarada’s lips parted, but no sound came.

 

“I know I should’ve asked you instead of yelling. I acted like a total jerk,” he added, looking at the ground. “I just didn’t know how to handle it. You—your feelings… they matter to me. A lot.”

 

He risked a glance up.

 

Her expression had softened, but there was still hurt in her eyes. A wound not yet healed.

 

“You thought the letter was for him,” she said quietly.

 

Boruto nodded slowly. “I did.”

 

Sarada exhaled. “And you didn’t ask me because…?”

 

“I was scared the answer would break me,” he admitted. “Because if it was Shinki—or anyone else—then I’d have to live with the fact that I never told you how I felt.”

 

She blinked, heart jumping. “And how do you feel?”

 

Boruto opened his mouth. Then closed it.

 

A moment passed.

 

Then Mitsuki’s voice floated from ahead. “I found the trail. You two can have your heart-to-heart after we don’t die in the desert.”

 

Sarada gave a short, surprised laugh.

 

Boruto grinned sheepishly. “Saved by the snake.”

 

 

 

The rest of the mission passed quietly, tension thawing just a little.

 

They found the missing merchant unconscious near an overturned cart. A quick medical check revealed he’d fainted from dehydration, nothing fatal.

 

As they prepared to escort him back to the village, Sarada walked beside Boruto, closer than before.

 

“I didn’t write that letter for Shinki,” she said suddenly.

 

He looked at her.

 

“I crossed the name out because I was afraid,” she added. “Afraid he wouldn’t feel the same. That it’d ruin everything.”

 

Boruto swallowed. “And now?”

 

Sarada paused. “Now I think the only thing ruining everything is silence.”

 

Boruto stared at her for a moment.

 

Then he smiled—genuine, warm, and boyish. “I’m done being silent.”

 

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away.

 

For the first time in days, something unspoken passed between them.

 

Not a confession.

 

But the space before one.

 

A promise, maybe.

 

One step closer.

 

The desert winds were finally behind them.

 

Sunagakure’s village gates loomed up in the distance, and Sarada exhaled for the first time in what felt like hours. The sun dipped lower, casting long golden shadows over the sand. The merchant they rescued was unconscious but stable, draped across the back of a borrowed sand crawler.

 

Mitsuki walked ahead as usual, calm and unbothered.

 

Boruto was beside her. This time, he didn’t trail behind or push ahead. He stayed near. Not too close—but close enough that the air between them no longer felt like a battlefield.

 

Still, there was something restless in him. Like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

 

Sarada glanced at him, her voice soft. “You okay?”

 

Boruto rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. I mean—sort of. I was thinking… maybe we could talk. Just us.”

 

She looked at him fully now.

 

“Tonight,” he added. “If you want.”

 

Her heart fluttered once. “I’d like that.”

 

He smiled—shy, almost boyish—and nodded.

 

But as they stepped through the gates of the village, a familiar voice interrupted the rare moment.

 

“Well, you two look like you survived the storm.”

 

Shinki stood near the gatepost, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. He looked as calm and poised as ever, but something behind his eyes sparked with quiet amusement.

 

“We did,” Sarada said quickly, straightening. “Mission success.”

 

“I heard,” he said, then looked at Boruto. “You’re still alive too. I’m impressed.”

 

Boruto’s eye twitched. “Funny.”

 

Shinki’s lips curled slightly. “Did you enjoy the tea shop, Sarada?”

 

Sarada nodded politely. “Yeah. Thanks again for the recommendation.”

 

Boruto’s jaw tightened.

 

Shinki’s gaze flicked to him, catching it—like a hunter catching a scent.

 

“I know another place that serves even better tea. If you’re around tomorrow—”

 

“She’s not,” Boruto said sharply.

 

Sarada blinked.

 

Shinki raised a brow. “Didn’t realize her schedule was yours to manage.”

 

Boruto opened his mouth but stopped. Something in Sarada’s expression held him back. She wasn’t smiling, but she also wasn’t amused.

 

“I have paperwork tomorrow,” she said neutrally. “But thanks.”

 

Shinki dipped his head slightly and walked past them, giving Boruto one last unreadable look.

 

Boruto didn’t move for a second.

 

Sarada sighed. “You still think he’s the one I wrote about, don’t you?”

 

“No,” Boruto said. “I know it’s not him.”

 

She paused.

 

“Doesn’t mean I have to like him hovering.”

 

Sarada let out a soft laugh. “You’re jealous of a guy who literally breathes politics.”

 

“Exactly!” Boruto gestured dramatically. “That’s the kind of guy moms love.”

 

She rolled her eyes, but it was different this time—fond.

 

 

 

That night, Boruto sat on the rooftop again, knees up, back against the stone wall. He waited. Stars twinkled above like shy confessions.

 

But before Sarada could join him, Mitsuki showed up.

 

Boruto groaned. “Seriously?”

 

Mitsuki plopped down beside him like he owned the spot. “I wanted to talk before she gets here.”

 

“About?”

 

“You.”

 

Boruto glanced sideways. “You spying again?”

 

“Always,” Mitsuki said with a smile. “But this time, I wanted to say something useful.”

 

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You’ve always been bad at expressing things when it matters.”

 

“Thanks, Mitsuki. Real deep.”

 

“I’m not judging,” he said. “Just… observing. You’ve always assumed Sarada knows how you feel. Like it’s obvious.”

 

“Isn’t it?”

 

Mitsuki shook his head. “It’s not obvious when you push people away the moment things get serious. She’s strong, yeah, but she’s not invincible. And you’re not the only one who feels scared.”

 

Boruto looked down at his hands.

 

“She wrote that letter because she didn’t know if she could keep pretending she didn’t care,” Mitsuki continued. “She crossed your name out because she was scared of your silence.”

 

The rooftop was quiet again.

 

Boruto closed his eyes.

 

“I’m scared too,” he admitted.

 

Mitsuki gave a rare, kind smile. “Then be scared. Just don’t be silent.”

 

 

 

Sarada arrived moments later, pausing at the top of the ladder.

 

Mitsuki stood. “I was just leaving.”

 

She raised an eyebrow, but he was already gone.

 

She sat beside Boruto, and for a while, neither of them spoke.

 

The village lights flickered below. The desert breeze was cooler now.

 

Boruto was the first to break the silence.

 

“When I saw the letter, something in me just—snapped. Not because I thought you loved someone else. But because I realized how long I’ve been ignoring what I feel.”

 

Sarada turned to him, surprised.

 

“I kept telling myself it was too dangerous. Too soon. That we’re still young, and things could change. That maybe… maybe I’d ruin what we already had.”

 

She stayed quiet, watching him.

 

“I think I messed up because I already love you,” he admitted softly. “And I didn’t know what to do with that.”

 

Sarada’s breath caught.

 

“I’m not good at poems. Or quiet love letters,” he said with a faint smile. “But I’m here. I’m finally here.”

 

She looked down at her lap. “Do you mean that?”

 

“I do.”

 

She hesitated… then reached out, gently placing her hand over his.

 

“I’m still angry,” she said honestly. “You hurt me.”

 

“I know.”

 

“But I still love you too.”

 

His eyes widened slightly, a little stunned.

 

“And that’s way scarier than any rogue ninja,” she added with a soft smile.

 

He laughed—relieved, nervous, real.

 

Their fingers laced together naturally.

 

Not a confession shouted in battle.

Not a dramatic kiss in the rain.

 

Just two hearts, finally on the same page.