Present

Sarada scrunched her nose in irritation. The rice porridge she had been trying to cook didn’t taste right. Frustrated, she dropped the ladle on the granite slab. A few minutes before she had tasted it, and it lacked salt. She was so sure that she had sprinkled in the right amount, and now she couldn’t understand how that could ruin the taste.

I never have trouble with this recipe! She cried in frustration. And why is it happening TODAY of all days?

It was a simple recipe that she knew how to cook. Perhaps it was things around her that distracted her.

She twisted the knob of the burner with much more force than required, turning off the stove. She dropped the lid over the pot forcefully and cringed at the sharp metallic sound.

The start of the day had been good for her. Like every year, this birthday also started with the sight of her mother grinning widely. It was a bit too early, however.

Her mother had given her a squishing hug as she wished her birthday, and like every year, she giggled and returned her mother’s embrace. Everything around her could change, but maybe this routine never would.

Perhaps it could. She was no longer a child who hid behind her mother when she was afraid to face something. She had been on her fair share of missions and was beginning to grasp the essence of shinobi life. She was a kunoichi now, and she had confronted the death of her comrades. She had accepted this ugly truth, but watching her father recuperate had made things worse for her. Sitting beside her unconscious father in the hospital had almost given her a taste of what it felt like to lose someone close.

Trying not to concentrate on her thoughts, she padded towards the refrigerator. She tried to occupy her mind with how to fix the porridge. One thing she could do to balance the salt was to add more rice to porridge. She sighed in relief when she spotted a bowl of rice in one of the cabinets.

She turned on the stove again, adding the rice and water to adjust its consistency and let it boil.

She tapped her fingers on the granite slab, eyeing the bubbling water. With nothing to do at the moment, her mind wandered off to her teammate.

She reached for other ingredients and measured in each carefully. While she was stirring the porridge, she realised that with her team on suspension from missions, she hadn’t seen Boruto lately. Boruto seemed to be doing fine, but she had realised she was wrong when Shikadai pointed out that of all people, Boruto was the one who’d been affected most by the incident.

Maybe I’ll call him up, Sarada thought while she cracked eggs into a bowl.

However, she felt like he had been ignoring her, and decided not to call him while she gathered the chopsticks and started beating the eggs.

She had mixed feelings regarding Boruto. Although she understood it wasn’t Boruto’s fault at all, every time she saw her father’s injuries, she couldn’t control the anger that surfaced. She tried to shake off the feeling as she poured the beaten eggs into the porridge. She didn’t want to blame Boruto for what had happened.

After closing the lid on the pot again, she buried her face into her palms, leaning against the counter. She really hated this cycle — understanding Boruto’s helplessness and then ending up holding a grudge against him. No matter how hard she didn’t want to think about it, the thought of what havoc he might cause when he lost control of his body again dreaded her. She knew Boruto was now a potential threat. What if she had to do something in future herself?

She was too confused to think straight. With a sigh, she removed the lid to see if it was done. Satisfied with the consistency, she sprinkled in some spring onion and reached for a bowl to pour some for her father.

Sarada knocked lightly on the door, announcing her presence to her father. Although it had been routine for a few days, she waited till her father responded. A small smile adorned her face when she heard him ask her to come in.

She realized she rarely had any time with Sasuke like this. They usually trained together or ate dinner when he came back from his mission. She never had felt his day-to-day presence as such.

She pushed the door open. She tried to suppress her excitement, but she didn’t have to work hard when she saw her father reading a scroll.

“Didn’t mama tell you not to strain your eye?” Sarada asked him, pretending to be offended.

She kept the tray on the bed-side table and heard the scroll falling on the bed with a light thud.

Sarada fidgeted on her foot sheepishly, waiting for her father to wish her a happy birthday. She looked around the room, trying not to be obvious. The silence stretched, and it became a bit uncomfortable, so she asked him.

“How are you feeling today?”

"Better," Sasuke nodded, his voice as reserved as always.

Sarada adjusted her glasses, and scrutinized her father's face. He didn't look any better than he had the previous days. Although her mother assured her there was nothing to worry about, she sensed that her father wasn’t doing well.

She wasn't quite sure if her father was sad or if he really was better. Sometimes she was really amazed by how her mother managed to read behind her father’s stoic mask.

His long absence from her life made her sad because she knew Uchiha Sasuke only in two ways — one when he was happy and proud of her, and the other when he was indifferent and unattached with his surroundings. She didn’t know much about her father, and maybe her father didn’t know much about her.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, patting his hand on the side beside him and gesturing for her to sit.

Sarada plopped on the bed beside him; and replied, “Boruto.”

He listened with a rapt attention as Sarada recounted her concerns and could only wonder when his little Sarada, who hardly could make coherent sentences when he had left for his mission, had grown up. He had missed so many years and so many things, he realized.

Sarada frowned when she asked him, “Papa, do you think anything is going to happen to Boruto?”

Sasuke knew what she was talking about, but didn’t interrupt her.

“Since he is a potential danger now,” she explained.

Sasuke sighed, closing his eyes, partly in relief and partly agitated. “Don’t worry about that. This isn’t the old Konoha. The present council doesn’t take any harsh measures.”

Sarada gave him a perplexed look, and Sasuke realised what he had said. However, he didn't falter, and waited for her next question.

“What about old Konoha?”

“A lot,” he paused and thought about whether to complete his sentence.

“About the old system.”

About that unforgivable system that ran on blood and filthy tricks.

“About the old councilors.”

About those insensitive bureaucrats who didn’t think twice before ordering a thirteen-year-old to butcher his own clan and family.

“And about our clan.”

About the family I once had.

Sarada was thrown off by his sudden straightforwardness. He had always measured the amount of information he fed her and had always dismissed her when she pried much about the clan and the doujutsu. She couldn’t help but feel a little awkward, and she didn’t know how to react until she noticed.

“The food,” she squeaked. Sarada touched the bowl and wailed, “Oh no! It turned cold.”

It reminded him of Sakura, and he smirked before he said, “Ah, but I can eat.”

“You sure? I can go and reheat if you say so,” Sarada said as she set a low table on the bed and placed the bowl there.

Sasuke nodded, and murmured, “Itadakimasu.”

He took a spoonful of porridge, and asked her, “Did you cook this?”

Sarada nodded eagerly. “Mama had to leave early for the hospital today, but it isn’t like mama’s, though,” she pouted. “I messed up while adding salt.”

“No, it’s fine,” Sasuke lied. The porridge was too watery with a lot of rice, and it tasted disbalanced.

He wondered again when his daughter had grown up so much. Although he knew they were shinobi and they were supposed to, he couldn’t shake off the image of the tiny girl born to them years ago, and the shiny big black orbs that had stared at him when he had held her in his arm for the first time.

Sasuke took a few more bites of food and decided to break the silence, “What do you want for your birthday?”

“Eh?” Sarada blushed, although she tried hard not to overreact.

So Papa remembered.

She grinned harder and nodded her head, saying, “Nothing. You being at home is more than enough for me.”

But when the words slipped, she realised perhaps her reply wasn’t apt. Some unfortunate events making him stay home wasn’t what she wanted.

“I didn’t mean that way,” she reprimanded herself. “This is the first time you’re home on my birthday and...”

She didn’t know how to explain further, looking at the ground.

As far as she could remember in her childhood, Sasuke had never been home for her birthdays except a few years during which she didn’t have a clear memory.

Sasuke again took a spoonful of porridge and said, “Aah,” and smiled lightly and added, “maybe training?”

“You know mama won’t be a bit happy about this?” Sarada deadpanned.

Sasuke scoffed and after a second, both were laughing.

It was the first time she had seen her father so unguarded. She had made many memories, spent precious time with her father, and learned a lot, but this Sasuke was an entirely new one to her. For that moment, she stopped blaming all the wrong things that had happened to her, to her father, and to her family and cherished the moment. Seeing him so casual, she decided to say something she had been thinking about.

“I’m sorry. I had always resented you because you couldn’t live with us. I wondered why you had to go on a mission for so long.”

Sasuke was a little taken aback at the moment. Years of sacrifice had created a large mass of guilt inside him. However, Sakura always supported him, but he knew he owed an apology from Sarada for his absence. He wasn’t sure how. Words weren't his way, and he was too overwhelmed to say anything after what her daughter said.

Sarada smiled widely, and added, “Thank you for protecting us, Papa”.

“Aah.”