I felt really jealous of the one with Water in her name. And she thought she was so special, I had to make sure I'd show her how many there were before her. When she tricked my Doctor in doing so, I obliged very happily. She was the one who wasn't happy about it.

The Water Girl had an attitude of herself, that sometimes would annoy me to no end. I got especially cross with her when the Pretty One joined us and she kept dismissing him. He was a lovely, brave young thing. I almost liked him instantly. I knew, however, how those two would end up, and my annoyance with the Water Girl slowly faded, especially because I was seeing it now, more clearly than ever before. When she and the Pretty One were around, it was almost as if we were a family again. It was almost as if my Doctor had found Susan and we were all together again.

Nonetheless, it wasn't quite so.

After losing the Doctorwoman and the lovesick one, one would think that he'd grow wary of closeness, but new faces always mess things up a bit.

My Doctor was fooling himself. He was getting too comfortable with that make-believe story. He knew as much as I that there was nothing for us but goodbyes. He was so carried away, though. When his new face saw the Water Girl, I knew it would be trouble. New faces are always more sentimental, especially in their early hours. It wasn't any different with this one, I was afraid.

I must confess, however, that I too grew fond of them. Especially the Pretty One. I had a soft spot for him, and even though he wouldn't notice, I was always humouring him during his stay inside me. But I couldn't expect anything different. There weren't many people who noticed me. Susan, the Lovesick One and the Doctorwoman were an exception.

It felt weird, and I had never felt weird before. It was almost as if... I fancied him. Not the way I feel about my Doctor, which is so much more than that, so much beyond simple love or caring. I liked the Pretty One. I wanted him to stay around for a long time yet. I wanted to see him grow old inside me, and I wanted to tell him that.

And that when I felt surprise for the first time: when I realised I wanted to talk to him. I never wanted to talk to anyone, not ever. Only my Doctor. But suddenly, I wanted to say things to this one as well. Oh dear.

But how could I, when my own Doctor wouldn't listen to me?

I tried telling him, "remember the Melody Woman", but he wouldn't listen. He knew how it would wind up with the Melody Woman - their farewell in the Library, how he had just let her trapped there, forevermore. He would smile at my console and pretend it wasn't a big deal. He still didn't know who she was.

I loved my Melody Woman. She could fly me whenever she wanted, I was always willing to let her try me out. I taught her how to do it, she was smoother and a better listener than my Doctor. I must confess, though, that I missed his quick fingers and his occasional knocks on the console. It made me feel more alive. With the Melody Woman, it felt sharp and secure. With him, it felt like an adventure.

He knew nothing about what had happened - or what would happen. I'm never sure about his timeline. I live a bit of his future and his past and his present. I could tell him where we would be going in a thousand years from now - I was there, as much as I was here, at the same time. I could tell him who he would meet, and I could tell him that he would mend.

I could tell him that he didn't need to regret or forget anything.

I could tell him that everything was going to be fine, because I was always there for him, and I always looked after him. I would never let anything bad happen. Sometimes (oh, well, a lot of times) he'd insist in going places and meeting people even though I kept telling him no. Even if I wheezed and cranked and rotated and refused to go, he'd not listen to me and go anyway.

I could tell him that, even then, it was all going to be fine, because I was still there for him.

If only he would listen more carefully...