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Hinata herself was intimidating to approach. The aura she carried was almost otherworldly, punctuated by her waist long glossy hair, then a glance from her pale eyes, shards of ice. But it was nothing compared to confessing your love, so the choice was obvious. They have to face the lesser, more fleeting dread, and stare the ghost in the eye. For some reason, in these matters, people preferred to pick the devil they don’t know. Love is an agony, a notorious one. Not that Hinata could ever realize quite how her stare struck somebody who was already boiling alive in their perceived spotlight.
Sakura stood beside her for a long moment as Hinata picked through her locker, wondering how long it would take her to notice that she was waiting. How could someone be so deep in thought just packing up for the day? Then again, it seemed to Sakura that Hinata was always somewhat absorbed in another world. Every time anyone demanded her attention, she gasped lightly in shock, as if initiating normal conversation took her by surprise. How odd, but somehow endearing. There was something about reserved people, and Sakura hadn’t ever examined Hinata so closely before. She clasped her hands together in front of her, nervous but patient. Generous.
It wasn’t until Hinata finally shut the door, with its small metallic click, that her eyes widened in recognition. “...Sakura.” She turned from her locker, her eyes apparently innocent, but there was an air of suspicion, impossible to completely conceal. People didn’t notice her unless they were expecting something.
Sakura tilted her head to the side, smiling, pleasant but awkward. She shifted her physics book to her other arm. “I heard about your….business.”
“Oh..?” Hinata didn’t seem to blink. Maybe she didn’t need to think too hard about it. “You want a palm reading? Five dollars basic. Ten dollars detailed. Tarot? It depends what you’re looking for. The prices really range.” Her script rattled off hollowly.
It was Sakura’s turn to be shocked. Her green eyes widened and clouded, then she blinked several times. She wasn’t aware there’d be a menu. “No, I mean. They say you write….letters.”
Hinata nodded. Sakura didn’t have to explain. The word was spreading, apparently. Most likely it was because Naruto had discovered the service, then promptly asked her to write not one, but three letters. He was an admirer of many but was by no means a poet. And that boy couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Hinata wasn’t sure if she wanted such a wide audience, but there wasn’t much she could do after Naruto finding out. She also had difficulty saying no to that smile, especially since his appeal was so genuine and sweet. It was somewhat heartbreaking, though, that he had so many, and that none of them were for her. She’d never received one from anybody. But the thought of somebody commissioning their admirer to write a love poem to themself was laughable. She’d been noticed, but only as a conduit.
Sakura flushed, then offered her smile, again, but this time her halo flickering. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or doubly anxious. But even through her blush, she made herself ask. “...Then. Do you think you could write one to Sasuke for me?”
Hinata watched her closely, the stiff façade she constructed when having to face social interaction crumbling. Sakura. Someone so strong could still disperse, fragile like petals. She’d never seen her quite so flustered before.
But the sentiment she felt made her adhere to her script even more. She wasn’t fond of unfamiliar horizons. Hinata’s face didn’t change in response. “There might be a bit of wait time.” Great. Three different notes to write to Sasuke. He was probably the person by whom she was least inspired. “But I’ll have it for you soon. It’s twenty dollars.” She noticed she was talking at a higher speed.
Sakura opened her mouth at the rote answer to such a vulnerable request. “Th-that’s alright.” She laughed lightly, tinny. “I’d just like it by next Friday.” Her speech was hurried too. She shoved her hand in her pocket and pulled out a wrinkled bill that she pressed into Hinata’s hand.
Hinata dipped her head, closing her hand around the note . She was about to ask Sakura’s preferences, such as whether she wanted a traditional letter or a poem or a different format, but Sakura was already treading away at a brisk pace, her face bright red, her secret made vocal.
Hinata assumed it wasn’t an abnormal assignment, though. It seemed pretty routine, actually. Sasuke was a common recipient. But there had been some peculiar assignments before.
She remembered how about a week ago, an extremely bashful Kiba had clumsily approached her. She’d even wondered if he was drunk. He’d wanted a poem but was insistent he couldn’t tell Hinata the recipient's name. Kiba was a close enough friend he’d managed to elicit an incredulous eyebrow raise from her, to which he turned beet red. “Jus’ do it. You want the money, right?”
She had fixed her error, staring at him blandly for a moment just to mess with him, then responded. “It may be a bit vague then, if that’s alright.”
Hinata pressed the bill into her pocket. A hundred dollars in one week, for letters alone. She glanced at her watch. An hour until Tenten’s fencing club was over. She’d wanted a full tarot spread. Tenten was really willing to spend on these things.
x-x-x-x-x
Hinata made her way to the library to bide the time. She needed to get started on the letters, anyway. For someone always so lost in thought, she sure avoided thinking. She did this by focusing intensely on the task in front of her. If she stopped for a moment, it might be unbearable. Her mind seemed like a dark well she tiptoed around. She spread out her notebook and pens on the table. She knew she’d eventually have to type these up to preserve her anonymity, but initially she only seemed to be able to conjure something like this by hand. If she allowed herself to think about it, though, she might feel as if she were invisible enough she wouldn’t have to obscure her identity.
Hinata never minded writing love letters, though. It always came so easily to her. At least most of them. Everyone had something that struck her when she thought of them. When she wrote about Ino, she thought of her lashes brushing her cheeks. Her cascading satin hair, folded angel wings. How she tied a ribbon around flowers with delicate fingers-- but precise. Lilies. There was somehow a hidden chemical nature to it all, like a perfume or a spell. How her laugh rang out melodic, louder than everyone else at the table. How despite her small frame, her presence filled the room to overflowing, a cushion to rest on.
Or Tenten. She regularly bought readings. Hinata could write about the light flush under her eyes as Hinata took her hand. Then the anticipation coloring her eyes, the rapt attention and sobriety as she listened, her fluttering hands resting on her thighs. The slight bend in her neck. How her hair was awry after fencing and she kept brushing back the flyaways with her fingertips.
There was an art to it. She had to retain the anonymity of the writer, while still writing what her client would want to say. That’s why she groaned inside when she heard Sasuke’s name again. Yeah, he was somebody who attracted every gaze. If she could produce carbon copies of the same poem, it would be beautiful, but she had to make sure these didn’t sound like they were all written by the same person. A letter to Sasuke from Naruto or Karin or Sakura would sound different, and even though nobody would ever check, Hinata wanted her poems to be accurate. Naruto would never quote the old poets. He’d put it simply and clumsily, without filter. Sakura would have an air of solemnity but beat around the bush. Karin wouldn’t hold anything back at all. Hinata narrowed her eyes as she thought of what she might have to write. It would definitely have a more stringent rating. She knew realism mattered more than how much the recipient would actually enjoy what they receive.
Once again, she was so deep in thought as she contemplated over her notepad, flicking her pen, she didn’t notice that somebody was waiting for her. She was surprised she didn’t feel his presence, though, as it belonged to the person with one of the loudest auras of all. It was like being able to ignore a meteorite striking the earth. It could have wiped out everything except for her and she would still look up dully, interrupted.
Hinata didn’t seem to notice how Rock Lee grew pale. She possessed a massive power she was entirely unaware she wielded. He brightened, though. He was always polite. Or maybe the effects of it didn’t paralyze him like it did others. “Hi Hinata.”
She gazed at him, nodding. He shrugged, trying to shake off the unease. “I know you’re busy but I couldn’t help but ask…. Naruto told me you’re good at writing poems.” He grinned, wide but exaggerated, betraying his apprehension.
Hinata’s head dipped, bashful. Anything that sounded like a compliment, no matter how small, made her feel like she was dangling off the side of a bridge. Eye contact was impossible, and she felt a tension in her throat. “I’m not sure about that….”
This brought Lee into his element. “I bet they’re great!!” Now his grin was so wide, it forced his eyes shut to make room on his face. He swayed back and forth a moment. “I was wondering if….” His body language changed and his voice became strangely quiet for him. Hinata had never seen him sheepish before. “You could write one to Sakura for me.”
The smile on Hinata’s face was barely perceptible. Thank goodness it wasn’t for Sasuke. “Alright.”
Lee seemed to shake more intensely, wound like a spring. The excitement was too much when coupled with the relief of confession, then the knot of dread. He was placing the task into her hands. Hinata noticed his energy. She’d had all this practice noticing. But he folded it all neatly away, his smile milder. “Twenty dollars, right?” The bill was already in his hand.
Hinata nodded, her face revealing nothing. That damn Naruto. Apparently he was a full length advert, complete with every detail. In retrospect, she wasn’t sure how she expected any less. She glanced down at her notepad for a moment. “Any preferences on what I include?”
Lee was more graceful now, his burden lifted for the moment. “I’ll leave it to the writer’s discretion.”
Hinata shut her eyes. “Alright.” She kept her eyes shut as Lee dipped his head in thanks then strode away, his heart skipping from the sudden lack of pressure, his feet brushing the air as he floated off the ground.
Hinata gazed at the paper. Sakura. She thought of that slouch she had to make when she was listening to the shorter girls. How you have to brush her hair aside to whisper into her ear, how that can tickle. Sakura’s snort when she laughs. The glitter of her earrings. Pages and pages of neat, curly handwriting in four different colors of pen.
In this moment, Hinata was most inspired by this letter, but at the same time, the words didn’t flow readily. She was somewhat nervous. After several minutes of staring, she let out a shallow sigh, then closed her notebook. Time to get the cards ready for Tenten.
x-x-x-x-x
Usually Hinata made her contributions then left them to fate. She opened the doors of the cages of doves, letting them land where they wished. Who was she to decide? She was no matchmaker. Her words, if crafted correctly, were only vessels. Everything they said was true, just spoken through the lens of what the sender would say. Everyone has their graces, unique surfaces where her words stuck. Each has an incredible beauty, and the only discrepancies lie in the beholder.
Somehow she was impartial in this process. She could close her eyes and see what others saw. Maybe it was a type of third eye. The words adhered to her muse and glowed in colors, but then disappeared when she captured them in the ink of her pen. She was a translator who had a special gift of this vision, never claiming any of these feelings as her own. She floated outside of this adolescent ebb and flow, a ghost only observing.
But this one had kept her up into the night. The anxiety had never washed over her before. She imagined her face. Which way would it twist when she read those words? The words she, Hinata, wrote. If she smiled, it was Hinata who’d made her smile. For some reason her heart raced. She’d never thought before about how the impacts of these letters were caused by her own hand. She’d never allowed them to strike her. But while she was packing up for the day, she saw a familiar letter fall from Sakura’s locker across the hallway.
It was a blessing, the first breath from the blossom after it opens. At first it was a true look of shock, pink blooming across her face, then an exhale. Reaching branches, full of blossoms. She shut her eyes, then glanced around, searching for her messenger. Wondering who it could be. Sakura apparently hadn’t expected anything of the sort. More words strangely came to Hinata, though the letter was already written. There wasn’t anywhere else to put them, the envelope already sealed.
Hinata watched, pretending to be focusing on her locker. Sakura gazed at the words for a moment longer, fingertips brushing the edge of the paper. But when Ino strode up to her as she usually did, Sakura quickly concealed it, her face returning to normal. The crack in her social mask was brief, but private. Only Hinata got to see it, this treasure. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t bothered to witness the reception of her letters before, but she realized she could get used to the feeling, at least with those who would appreciate it.
Maybe there were worse curses than invisibility.