She doesn't look at him and think that could have been me. He's too strange – too shifting, formless, inconsistent for her to see any reflection of herself in him. He says loyalty where she says dedication. He says companions, and she finds she can say nothing at all.

She doesn't look at him and think that is what I should have been. The life she has may not be the one she would've chosen, but she no longer pities herself for where she has ended up. She is who she is, and she cannot (will not) regret that.

She doesn't look at him and think that is the freedom I'll never have because she knows it isn't true. She has Gaara, whom she loves and hates; he has his parents, his village, his friends. She isn't even sure she want freedom anymore, if it meant losing what she has.

She doesn't look at him and think I want to understand you because wanting and understanding have never done much good for her so far.

She doesn't look at him until he turns around and looks at her, until he scowls and says, "What are you staring at?"

She doesn't answer, "Nothing."

He doesn't, for just a moment, look like he might laugh. He doesn't roll his eyes and turn back around and say, "Girls, geez," in a way that is almost a joke between them now.

She doesn't smile when his back is turned. But sometimes she thinks she'd like to.