She's scared.
Funny, because she's never anything but supremely self-assured. She's the epitome of overconfidence, the height they yearn for in their cradles. She stands on a pedestal of her own making, built from the bones of those introverted classmates who still don't know what they're after.
(Sakura is one of these.)
She's not used to this feeling.
A large part of her wants to bury it, hide it beneath that cool, angry exterior the rest of the world is so used to. They think they know everything, don't they?
(Of course, so did she.)
If she were willing to delve into that segment of her personality she keeps hidden even from herself -- if she would dive into the dark ocean and the essence of her mind -- she might find that she's more afraid that she originally suspected.
She's insecure for possibly the first time in her life, and it's all because of a useless, shy, pink-haired loser. Why did she have to fall for the one girl who absolutely hated her? Why did she have to fall for a girl at all?
Questions like these swirl in her mind, winds before a storm. Whispers before an uprising before a riot.
(Their pepper spray won't do anything to disperse this crowd.)
Her answerless inquiries collide behind her closed lips, waiting for release. They're sharper than her tongue on those days when her armor is strongest. The insides of her cheeks are cut and bleeding, wounds left by the things she doesn't say.
(I love you.)
But she takes a lesson from Sakura and hides herself away.
They don't need to know.