Finally she excises an hour of study time to spend on being able to look at him without intervening furniture or flinching. She finds it's possible to do this in her mindscape, without having to use a notebook. She can zoom in deep into a rose petal, find a level of detail beyond which there are no patterns, and write, directly there. This isn't an ideal memory aid - if she looks later the words aren't exactly the same - but it's much faster for sheer processing, and the chosen modifications morph into the structure of the rose without special effort as soon as she's sure she wants them.
She behaves with more equanimity about his nudity after that. "You can stop trying to remember to hide behind things," she tells him.
"Well, I am," says Belle. "I've - a handful of people have claimed to be in love with me before. But these were always people who'd barely spoken to me. Who thought I was pretty and knew nothing more about me than than that. If that was any kind of love I don't think it was a worthwhile sort. But if my merely looking as I do sufficed for you - for the curse - then I'd have seen it the first time I looked at the fondement, I think."
"I don't love you because you're pretty," he says. "You are, and I love it, but that's not what made the difference. I love you because you're—beautiful. Like thunderstorms."
"I'm like thunderstorms?" Belle asks. "I didn't understand this the first time you mentioned it, and still don't, I'm sorry."
He trails off, thinks, then starts again.
"What's most beautiful about you is your nature - what you are, what you do. How you think, how you speak, what you say. Thunderstorms are beautiful for the same reasons—not the same things, not the same qualities, but the same... parts of them. Their essence and how they express it in the world."
"Is there," Belle says, "anything much to anyone that is not their essence and how they express it in the world?"
"I'm sorry. But it's true. I love you because you are the person that you are and you act the way you do."