He nods slowly, looking at their hands as he brushes his thumb against hers. Grief. Loss. In a way he's thought about it a lot. Feared it. Even now, he's still scared of it.

"Who you could be if she never left?" His voice is soft, contemplative. He doesn't want to assume but he's not sure if he's saying this right. "You might be a different Rinoa." Maybe she'd never have joined the Timber resistance. She could be a famous pianist and singer like her mother. Who knows.

He sighs. "Sorry. We don't have to talk about this." He's terrible at this.