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i.
It was the summer of the year she turned twenty two when she met Sasuke. She supposes it might be fate, or a lucky coincidence. But does it really matter which it is, she muses. She inches closer to the boy next to her, buries her face in his chest. Now he’s here with me. That’s all that matters.
Several months back, she had her fortune told in Quiapo, on a whim. The fortune-teller made several memorable claims: that she would be lucky when it comes to working overseas, but not when it comes to entering the food business. Sakura had laughed at that: how oddly specific. The ale also remarked that she must live quite the charmed life—always one to unwittingly put herself in danger, but never being truly harmed.
She smiles at the memory—because wasn’t that how she met him?
That day, she was being followed by a pervert after alighting from a jeep at Recto. The man seemed dogged in his pursuit, and she was getting desperate. She was no longer thinking straight. When she caught a glimpse of Sasuke—an immaculately dressed, clean-shaven gentleman just lounging outside 7-Eleven—she immediately latched onto his arm and begged him in a whisper, Please, play along.
He had, but after that encounter, he demanded that she buy him coffee to pay him back. And thus began their story.
Now they were together. Like it was fate, or maybe a lucky coincidence. She fondly recalls another of the fortune-teller’s predictions; she’d said you’ll meet your match at twenty-two.
Well, manang. Maybe I have, she muses, as she savors the warmth of him beside her, this very moment. Maybe I’ll come back and offer sampaguitas to the Nazarene, like you said.
He wakes to the warmth of her embrace and feels her lips curving into a smile against his bare chest. He huffs, amused. “Good morning, huh?”
“You smug bastard, you.” She presses a kiss on his clavicle, and then on his jaw. There is unfettered merriment in her tone. “You have no idea.”
ii.
She is pleasantly buzzed, sitting on the couch with her boyfriend of three years now, perfectly content. The television hums indistinctly in the background; he has long since turned down the volume, choosing to just listen to her as she goes on about her night out with Ino.
He leans his head against hers, and entwines their hands. He has always been more demonstrative when they were alone. She loves this. Giddy from both his actions and the alcohol running through her system, she grabs his face, and before he could recover from his surprise, she steals a kiss.
After that long, breathless moment she attempts to break away, but he does not let her. He deepens the kiss and draws even closer, running his fingers through her hair as he gently teases her lower lip with his tongue. Just that sends a thrill through her veins, and she flushes, embarrassed. He laughs softly, his breath fanning warmth across her neck. “So, what did you tell her?”
“Hm?” she wonders out loud, dazed from his kiss and forgetting all that she had previously recounted. Sasuke smirks, the smug bastard. He rewords the inquiry. “What did you tell Ino,” he begins, as he tucks stray strands of hair behind her ears, “when she asked you about the kind of man you would like to marry?”
“Oh.”
He looks at her—expectant, hopeful. Afraid. What do you even have to fear, she muses, as she meets that painfully transparent gaze. As if he hadn’t wholly captured her heart the day she chanced to meet him at Quiapo. As if that which bound them together was a fragile thing that needed to be handled with the utmost care—no! The answer springs to her mind unbidden: It has always been you. It will always be you.
Forget your fears, my dearest.
But she does not say this out loud, growing suddenly shy as he continues to look at her. “Well,” she starts, and takes one of his hands, entwining their fingers once again. She averts her eyes, smiling.
She wills him to listen, and truly hear what it was that she is too shy to admit. “I told her he has to be someone I could happily do all the little things with.” She looks at him again and gestures at their linked hands, and then at the small, quiet apartment they have shared for the last few years. Her face takes on the radiance of the emotions that surge through her at that very moment—hope, joy, and the tenderest affection.
“Something like this.”
iii.
They are at the grocery store, halfway through their shopping list and playfully debating the merits of various beef cuts, when it happens.
Sakura was about to turn away, to lead them to the remaining items on their list, but Sasuke stays her by taking her hand. She raises a brow at him in silent inquiry. He only smiles, before he slips his other hand into his pocket. He pulls out a ring, and without fanfare, fits it onto the fourth finger of her left hand.
“How about that?” There is a twinkle in his eye as he looks at her. “You up for it?”
“A cheeky man,” she retorts. She brings the now-jewelled hand up for a closer look, and admires the way the ruby glints under the fluorescent lights. She smirks. “Guess it’s too late now to return this, no?”
He laughs. “Afraid so. I’ve lost the receipt long ago.”
“It’s a good thing you have me.”
“Only too true.” The gaze that meets hers shines with contentment, and Sasuke’s face is suffused with the gentle light of the joy they have built between them. She is overcome by the strangest urge to cry, so she closes the gap between them and presses herself to his side. He wraps an arm around her, and touches his lips to her forehead.
“I’ll marry you, dummy,” she whispers, trying to keep the happy tears at bay. “Of course, I’ll marry you.”
“Thank you, Sakura.”
“Shall we?” she asks, gesturing vaguely. Whether it was to the next aisle or towards the rest of their lives together, he could not tell. But he would be ready to come with her, wherever it was.
“Lead on, my lady.”