[ He supposes in a way what he's suggesting is not that much different from asking Padmé to tell him stories- a theory he finds supported by the subject of her offer. These are things she wants him to have, slices of her history she thinks he would like. He nods. ]

Anything you want to share with me. The things you want me to have. I knew nothing of either of you in our own galaxy.

[ He pauses as if he hears the way his voice drifts towards bitterness, as if he notices the way his fingers are tightening their grip on the wheel. But if he was making an attempt to banish it, he fails. The tension under his words lingers. ]

I intend it to be different, here.