She was always a stranger. She didn’t really like to make friends, and very occasionally she would be an acquaintance, but most of her life she was a stranger.
And that was the way she liked it. She could slip in and out of notice whenever she wanted. She never had people asking her questions, probing into her life, trying to assess her feelings. She didn’t have to worry about hurting someone’s feelings, or someone hurting hers. She had talked to someone about it once, and he had said that seemed like an awful lonely existence, but she couldn’t understand what he meant by that. She had never needed people to keep herself entertained, and she expected that she never would.
So she walked through life as a stranger. And she was happy.