[One would think that, to see the way she regards him. Perhaps that comes from the situation; she knows him well, after all, even though he has never quite known her. That's been the story of her life, for Naminé. It's par for the course, albeit a truly miserable way to go about things.]
[That happens to be one of the reasons this is so bittersweet. For her, being known, being remembered, having friends - these were all dear but largely unobtainable dreams, before. And yet he'd remembered her, against all the odds, only for that to be ripped away again a moment ago as though it had never been at all. It was one thing for what she wanted to be totally beyond her reach, but it's another to have the tiniest taste and then lose it all over again. Yet, despite herself, she truly is happy to see him. She's happy that he's alright, after what she's been told, even if that may only be for a given value of 'alright'.]
[So it's difficult, looking at him now and finding herself completely unfamiliar to him. More difficult, maybe, to know what to say in the face of that, because no matter how much time she's spent in the memories of others, no matter how many friendships she's seen form through someone else's eyes, she feels painfully at a loss as to how to go about it, herself.]
[There is one thing that's clear to her, however, and it's this: she can't tell him everything she wants to.]
[It would be too much, she thinks. And the more she considers it, the more she becomes conscious of the fact that she doesn't know how much he knows. If he's forgotten her, has he forgotten anything else? (Is it narcissistic to think it might not only be her?) If some of his other memories are missing, she's thoroughly hesitant - prudence demanding it - to give him too much information at once. That's why when he asks, she pauses, silently debating with herself on how to frame things. As she does, she does so with her lips slightly parted and her eyes intent on him, watching as if she might thereby glean some clue as to how informed he may or may not be.]
[Presently, she decides on,]
You and I... have a lot in common.
[A test, to see how much he knows about himself. Will he guess correctly what it is? She leaves those words where they lay and continues.]
I wanted to meet you for a long time. But the way things were, that couldn't happen - not until recently. When it did, I was-- [This time when she hesitates, it's with the barest hint of an almost nostalgic smile before her slightly breathy,] ... so glad. Only, we didn't get the chance to speak for long. It... just wasn't the right time, I think.
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[That happens to be one of the reasons this is so bittersweet. For her, being known, being remembered, having friends - these were all dear but largely unobtainable dreams, before. And yet he'd remembered her, against all the odds, only for that to be ripped away again a moment ago as though it had never been at all. It was one thing for what she wanted to be totally beyond her reach, but it's another to have the tiniest taste and then lose it all over again. Yet, despite herself, she truly is happy to see him. She's happy that he's alright, after what she's been told, even if that may only be for a given value of 'alright'.]
[So it's difficult, looking at him now and finding herself completely unfamiliar to him. More difficult, maybe, to know what to say in the face of that, because no matter how much time she's spent in the memories of others, no matter how many friendships she's seen form through someone else's eyes, she feels painfully at a loss as to how to go about it, herself.]
[There is one thing that's clear to her, however, and it's this: she can't tell him everything she wants to.]
[It would be too much, she thinks. And the more she considers it, the more she becomes conscious of the fact that she doesn't know how much he knows. If he's forgotten her, has he forgotten anything else? (Is it narcissistic to think it might not only be her?) If some of his other memories are missing, she's thoroughly hesitant - prudence demanding it - to give him too much information at once. That's why when he asks, she pauses, silently debating with herself on how to frame things. As she does, she does so with her lips slightly parted and her eyes intent on him, watching as if she might thereby glean some clue as to how informed he may or may not be.]
[Presently, she decides on,]
You and I... have a lot in common.
[A test, to see how much he knows about himself. Will he guess correctly what it is? She leaves those words where they lay and continues.]
I wanted to meet you for a long time. But the way things were, that couldn't happen - not until recently. When it did, I was-- [This time when she hesitates, it's with the barest hint of an almost nostalgic smile before her slightly breathy,] ... so glad. Only, we didn't get the chance to speak for long. It... just wasn't the right time, I think.