The first time I saw you was from a distance, and I was in pure awe of you. You were as beautiful as a intricately decorated porcelain doll — and looked nearly as fragile. I think in hindsight I should have realized sooner rather than later that this was the norm — that you would always be a thing of beauty and wonder, but that you would always be so far out of reach.
I watched you walk in a procession of other main branch members — your father holding your hand and walking proudly with a firm look on his face. You were sucking on a thumb and eyeing your surroundings with timid, frightened eyes. I immediately worried for you — what was frightening you so? I remember wondering that, and I stood beside my father and looked up at him with that same worry reflected in my own eyes.
He frowned down at me, and then look at your father with a fierceness in his eyes that I had never seen before. I remember him glancing down at me just as your backs faced us and whispering, “My son, it is your duty to protect her. It is your duty to be strong where she is weak.”
I think I lived those words to the fullest after he died. Perhaps it was my anger getting the best of me, or me being a young sponge of a child absorbing every bit of information I heard — and I regularly heard of the resentment toward the main branch. I was told repeatedly that you were the reason why my father had to die. Deep down, I don't think I could ever truly believe that. But as the years went on, my anger only grew.
You were the heiress of our proud, strong clan…and you were weak. Your soft demeanor and timid attitude against hurting others was infuriating. Especially because I had to watch you fail over…and over…and over again from the sidelines while I was forced to keep my mouth shut. And I saw the way you seemed to wither like the weak flower that you were whenever you were scolded, pushed around, and even beaten for your failures and for your weakness. It was admittedly painful to watch, and I had to fight through the moments when my body itches to run out onto the mat and help you…sometimes even protect you from the blows I saw coming before you did.
When they made us fight the first time, I remember feeling a multitude of things—none of them good or acceptable. Fighting you brought about such a combination of strange feelings in me that they made me lose focus on the task at hand. In my frustration of not being able to fully understand my feelings, I took it all out on you and came at you with full strength. I hope one day you will forgive me, as I have truly never forgiven myself.
When your sister was old enough to spar with you, i watched you intentionally miss and only respond defensively. Your outright refusal to do what you were told and to stay true to your own personal beliefs angered me. I questioned what my father truly died for — some weak child who can't follow the rules? But as much as it angered me, it intrigued me. I found myself unintentionally living from your example in many ways — though, I think I lived more selfishly. And I'd never admitted that I was living from your example because truly our views of the world — of life — were so vastly different.
I watched as your stronger, power-hungry sister took control of your rightful place — as she become heiress. And when everyone left to take her away, I remained with you — as was my duty— and watched as you laid on the ground, body shaking from silent sobs. I had to close my eyes because it was becoming too painful to watch. And when you got up to leave, you looked at me briefly, and through all of that suffering you somehow managed to smile and say “all will be well.” I watched you leave, and I felt that familiar yet unidentifiable burning feeling in my chest again.
Years passed, and every moment that you showed me kindness I resented it and pushed you away because of the way you made me feel. And my avoidance of my true feelings seemed to only put fuel into the already kindling flame of anger I held over you for years. Every ounce of my being wanted to hate you…but I truly couldn't.
When our names flashed on the screens together during the chunin exams, I was more eager to fight you. I watched you give that obnoxious blonde child that ointment, and my blood was simmering. And the terror in your eyes when you realized you would have to fight me sent my blood straight to boil.
You had truly improved, though you continued to fight defensively. And I was going easy on you. But, I was admittedly impressed.
And then he yelled your name and gave you words of encouragement, and the smile on your face grew wide and your confidence grew immensely. You became stronger, more bold and more fierce about your movements.
All I remember in that moment was the pain I felt in my chest. In that moment, I stopped thinking clearly.
And when they took you away and I realized what I had done, the pain only increased…and so did my anger. I made excuses to justify my righteousness and criticize your weakness. And when he spoke words on your behalf defending your honor, it was then that I truly understood…
I was the one who had lost. And you loved him.
When your father came to see me, our conversation was one I won't ever forget. At one point, he told me that my feelings for you were a weak spot that I had to overcome. I didn't know how to process that, nor did I ask for further clarification. My immediate reaction was to not believe him.
It wasn't until seeing you at the hospital that I realized what he meant. I felt the anger, the hate…but it was now mixed with a more recognizable series of feelings that could really mean one thing — regret. Remorse. Sadness. Pity. Longing, in many ways, to make things right. But my hate and my pride prevented me from facing the full extent of those feelings.
When you recovered, I was only a day or two away from my fight with him.
I watched you from the shadows as you spoke to him before he left for the fight. And more and more I began to understand this weakness of mine.
Because during that fight I learned why you loved him. And felt further weakness at the way that it made me feel to learn that you will never love me because of our differences. He was everything I wasn't to you. And what was worse was that he further amplified your weaknesses…he encouraged them, and cherished them openly. But upon doing so, he made you strong. He believed in you.
And all I did was scorn you. Push you away. Hate you. Belittle you and call you weak.
The truth was that you were anything but. You were truly and completely strong. Stronger than myself.
When you came to me asking to be trained after he left, my level of remorse was at its highest. I refused you at first, but you were persistent.
And when you told me you forgave me for my behavior, I knew for certain that you were the strongest out of the two of us.
Training you opened my eyes to a side of my feelings…of you…of us…that I never thought I'd see.
You were kind to me, and I slowly began to accept your kindness.
And I smiled more, or so you said.
And I was sometimes kind to you, or so you said.
But I learned the true identity of my feelings for you, and they frightened me as much as they excited me. The truth was that I loved you — everything about you.
The sound of your voice. The touch of your skin. The way you treat others. Your determination to succeed.
You were beautiful, and I was immensely lucky to spend the time with you that I did.
And every touch, every laugh, every sigh of contentment…all of those memories will remain engrained in my heart forever.
And then he returned.
And reality set in. Especially when I saw the light in your eyes when you spoke to him. That same light was never there for me.
When you left to go on a mission with him, the excitement in your voice stung no less. When you left, you didn't hug me like you usually did — you waved goodbye, and I took that as a sign.
When you returned, you were upset at the results of the mission, but you spoke excitedly about moments you had with him. I smiled and played the good friend.
And that became a trend. Smiling and playing the good friend.
Until we found you in the crater after you tried to save him. And when Sakura told me afterwards that you loved him, I knew that he must know it too.
And when he came to you after the fight ended and cried beside you worried about your health, I knew…he loved you too. Even if he didn't know it yet.
When they announced the details of the war, you were afraid, as were many of our friends. But you were more afraid for him. He was sent away, and you constantly asked to see him.
A Hyuuga clan meeting was called to discuss the war, but your father called me into his office beforehand to discuss matters of extreme importance.
His words were everything I wanted to hear and devastating as the same time.
I came to you and told you. He proposed that we marry, and I refused him. And I told you my feelings, but I pushed you away when you tried to accept me just to make me happy — a concept that pained me to no end. And when I left you stood there in a state of sadness and confusion.
“You will always be my weak spot, Hinata-sama,” I thought, before I turned to walk out the door. “But I will not become yours.”