Bella woke up before her alarm, which felt like a crime against humanity.
She blinked into the pale streaks of sunlight knifing through her curtains. Sunlight. In Forks. On a Monday. Somewhere in the distance, the universe was definitely laughing at her.
But for some reason she didn't even care.
A quiet little smile curved her lips. Not huge — she wasn't a psychopath — but real. Soft and impossible to swallow.
Even her hair mostly cooperated this morning, which was practically a religious miracle. And when she dragged a brush through it, she didn't even hiss once.
She pulled on her favorite hoodie, jeans that weren't actively trying to ruin her life, and padded down to the kitchen, her socks skidding slightly on the linoleum.
The toaster was already mocking her by the time she got there. But she fed it two slices of bread anyway, like some small act of defiance.
She was halfway through pouring a glass of orange juice when the front door creaked open. Charlie clomped in, still in his flannel pajama pants and an undershirt, his hair sticking up like the aftermath of a bear attack.
"Morning," he muttered without looking up, making a beeline for the coffee pot like it was an emergency.
Bella beat him to it. "Morning!" she chirped, just a little too loud.
Charlie froze mid-reach.
She froze too, belatedly realizing that her voice had come out bright and sunny, like she'd just won the lottery.
Charlie turned his head sloooowly, mustache twitching like it was picking up distress signals. "...You okay?"
Bella rolled her eyes and leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "I'm fine. Why does everyone ask me that every time I sound even remotely alive?"
He squinted at her like she'd just told him she'd joined a cult. "Because you're smiling."
"Wow. How dare I?"
"You're smiling," he said again, as if repeating it would make it make sense. "At breakfast."
She grabbed her toast and bit into it. Too dark on one side, not enough on the other. Typical. "Maybe I just decided to stop being miserable for once."
Charlie sank into his chair with his mug, still staring at her suspiciously. "...You sick?"
Bella groaned and dropped her head back dramatically. "I'm not sick, Dad. Can a girl just be… I don't know. In a good mood?"
"Not my girl," he muttered into his coffee.
Bella gave him a look over the top of her toast. "Rude."
"Just sayin'." He gestured vaguely at her. "You don't just wake up whistling Dixie on a Monday morning for no reason. Something's going on."
She raised both eyebrows, deadpan. "Oh, yeah. You caught me. Huge underground meth operation. I'm the kingpin."
Charlie made a face that was equal parts confused and mildly alarmed. "...That a joke?"
Bella smirked faintly and dropped her toast onto a paper towel. "Relax, Chief. You're not gonna have to arrest me. I'm fine."
He grunted, clearly unconvinced, and went back to his coffee. "Mm-hm."
Bella drained the rest of her orange juice and glanced at the clock on the wall. Almost seven.
Her pulse jumped a little just thinking about it — about him.
Edward.
That quiet decision she'd made yesterday in the woods still hummed in her veins like static electricity.
She slung her backpack over one shoulder and made for the door.
Charlie glanced up. "You're leaving already? You're never early."
Bella smirked at him, one hand on the knob. "Since when do I need your permission to be punctual?"
"You're just… you're acting weird."
She threw him a dry look over her shoulder. "Weirder than usual, you mean."
Charlie leaned back in his chair, watching her with that Pedro Pascal blend of dad concern and cluelessness. "You don't gotta prove anything, kid. If somebody's got you… feelin' all…" he gestured vaguely at her entire body, "…like this, just… be careful, okay?"
Bella froze for half a beat, heat prickling up her neck.
She didn't answer him.
Didn't know how.
Instead, she forced a faint smile, opened the door, and let the blinding sunlight spill over her.
"It's just Monday, Dad," she called behind her.
He didn't sound convinced when he called back, "Don't wait too long to call me if you need me!"
The door clicked shut behind her before he could say anything else.
The sunlight was sharp and impossible. The sky was a watercolor blue she'd never seen in Forks before. The air in her lungs was alive.
She climbed into her truck, gripping the steering wheel tight enough to leave faint crescent moons in her palms.
For the first time since she'd moved here, she wanted to get to school.
And it had nothing to do with being on time.
The thought of Edward — of seeing him — was louder than the engine when she turned the key.
For once, she didn't care if anyone noticed.
She even smiled to herself as she pulled out of the driveway.
Let Charlie think what he wanted.
She already knew what — who — she wanted.
—
Bella knew the second she turned into the parking lot.
The sun was blazing down — by Forks standards, at least — throwing everything into sharp, surreal Technicolor. The asphalt shimmered faintly, and students squinted against the rare blue sky.
And there was no silver Volvo.
Her fingers stayed curled around the steering wheel longer than necessary as her stomach dropped through her sneakers.
She'd told herself it was fine. She knew he'd said he wouldn't be here today, casually mentioning "plans" with his brothers on Friday — something about hiking — and she'd nodded like she'd actually absorbed the words. Like she hadn't been too busy memorizing the way he said her name.
But still.
She climbed out of her truck, slung her backpack over her shoulder, and tried to pretend like the brightness didn't hurt her eyes. Like she wasn't scanning every shadow in the parking lot anyway.
She found an empty bench outside the cafeteria and dropped onto it, the sun warm on her back.
Homework was safe. Homework didn't look at her like it wanted to tear her apart and put her back together all at once.
She flipped open her notebook to the page with her Macbeth outline and started doodling in the margins — jagged spirals, a pair of wide, watchful eyes, a dagger that curved wrong halfway through.
"Bella!"
She glanced up — reluctantly — to find Mike Newton bounding across the courtyard like some golden retriever in sneakers, all sunlit enthusiasm and not a lick of shame.
"Hey, Mike," she said flatly, though she managed something that might've passed for a smile.
Mike plopped down next to her without waiting to be invited, his soda bottle clunking against the wood of the bench.
"Man, it's awesome out today," he said, throwing his head back to squint at the sun. "It's like… California or something."
Bella arched an eyebrow, deadpan. "You've never been to California."
He grinned, undeterred. "Doesn't mean I can't compare it to my dreams."
She rolled her eyes, turning back to her notebook.
Mike leaned over, trying to peek at her work. "What're you doing? Please say you're making me a cheat sheet for the Macbeth essay."
Bella held up her page wordlessly — a half-done outline with the word ambition underlined three times — and gave him a look.
Mike whistled low. "Wow. Overachiever much? You know it's not due 'til Wednesday, right?"
"Yup," Bella said shortly, scribbling another dagger.
Mike rested his elbow on the table, his grin growing more lopsided by the second. "So… what're you doing tonight? Besides making everyone else feel bad about their procrastination skills?"
She sighed, setting her pen down slowly. "Mike…"
But before she could finish, he reached over and — like some kind of walking cliché — tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Her entire body locked up.
She turned her head just enough to fix him with a glare that could've curdled milk.
Mike froze mid-motion, the confident grin faltering. "What? I just—"
"Don't," she said flatly, scooting back half an inch.
"Okay, okay," he said quickly, both hands going up in mock surrender. "No touching. Got it." He tried for a laugh, but it came out awkward. "So, uh… what I was trying to say was… maybe we should hang out tonight. Like… dinner? Or a movie? Or… whatever."
Bella blinked at him, unimpressed.
He looked hopeful. Painfully hopeful.
She exhaled through her nose. "Mike," she said carefully, her tone sharper now, "you do remember that you're going to the dance with Jessica, right?"
His smile faltered. "Well, yeah, but… that's just the dance. Doesn't mean—"
"Doesn't mean what, exactly?" she cut in, narrowing her eyes.
He faltered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Doesn't mean… you know… that I couldn't…"
"She likes you," Bella said bluntly. "Like… likes you likes you. And you know it. Don't pretend you don't."
Mike's ears immediately turned pink. "I mean, yeah, but… she's cool with… I mean…"
"She's not cool with you asking me out the Monday before the dance you're taking her to," Bella finished for him.
He winced.
She picked her pen back up and underlined ambition one more time, pressing harder than necessary. "Don't be that guy, Mike. She'd be really hurt if you…" she waved vaguely at him, "…whatever this is you're trying to do."
He sat there a second longer, deflated. Then he laughed softly, though it was more self-conscious this time. "Yeah. You're right. You're… always right, huh?"
Bella didn't bother looking up from her notebook. "Not really. Just not wrong this time."
That earned her another weak laugh as he finally stood, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket.
"I should probably… you know. Start that paper," he said sheepishly.
"Good plan," she replied dryly.
Mike lingered for another beat, then waved and slunk back toward the building.
Bella let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and stared back down at her page.
The sun was warm on her back. The bench was empty again.
She drew another dagger in the margin, darker than the rest.
It didn't help.
Not really.
—
Edward stood high above the school grounds, crouched on a blackened branch like some restless shadow. The sunlight barely reached him here — and that was deliberate.
The courtyard below gleamed almost offensively bright, the rare March sun catching on every windshield and wet patch of asphalt until the whole place felt like it was on fire.
And he could not step into it.
Not without giving himself away.
But it wasn't the sunlight that clenched his jaw as he glared down at the bench outside the cafeteria.
It was him.
Mike Newton.
The boy plopped himself down next to Bella like he belonged there, his shoulders too close to hers, his smile too easy.
Edward's fingers curled into the bark of the branch until it groaned softly beneath his grip. His knuckles turned white. His whole body strained against the self-control he had spent a century mastering.
And then he watched — with the kind of detached horror that came with being what he was — as Mike leaned closer and tucked a strand of Bella's hair behind her ear.
Edward's teeth ground together with a faint click.
"Don't," he muttered under his breath, though no one was there to hear. "Don't you dare—"
"Oh, wow," a deep, amused voice cut in from right behind him.
Edward froze.
"You are so close to snapping that boy's neck, aren't you?"
Edward didn't turn right away. He didn't have to. He knew that voice — smooth, faintly mocking, too calm to belong to anyone else.
Hadrian Peverell was there now, sprawled across the neighboring branch as if he'd been sitting there for hours. His jeans were artfully scuffed, his flannel half-buttoned over a plain tee, and his emerald green eyes glinted with mischief.
He swung one long leg idly back and forth, the picture of casual arrogance.
Edward finally glanced at him, his bronze hair falling forward into his eyes. His voice was clipped. "Do you have to appear like that?"
Hadrian only smirked wider. "Yes. Yes, I do. You should thank me for not popping into existence directly in front of her. That would've been more fun."
Edward shot him a sharp look, his jaw tightening.
Hadrian ignored it and nodded toward the scene below. "So. Here you are. Lurking in a tree. Watching a girl at lunch. Very subtle. Not creepy at all. Tell me again how you're not stalking her?"
Edward exhaled slowly through his nose, his voice lowering to a dangerous growl. "I'm not stalking her."
Hadrian made a noncommittal hum. "Oh, sure. And I'm just here because I like tree sap. Come on, Ed. You're practically frothing every time Newton breathes near her."
Edward's glare could have split wood. "Newton," he hissed, "is a fool."
"Now that, my friend," Hadrian said, leaning back lazily, "is something we actually agree on."
Edward looked back at the bench just in time to see Bella fix Mike with one of her cutting little glances. Something in his chest eased at the sight of it, though his hands still itched to… clarify a few things for Mike.
"Still," Hadrian went on, "I gotta admit. I'm impressed you haven't jumped down there yet. I was sure you were about five seconds away from snapping his wrist like a twig and saying it was an accident."
Edward's voice was cold and even. "It's crossed my mind."
Hadrian grinned, flashing just a hint of teeth. "Knew it."
Edward's eyes narrowed again. "What do you want, Hadrian?"
Hadrian finally sat up straighter, leaning his elbows on his knees. "Ah, right. That. I'm supposed to drag you back to the house. Emmett got his hands on the new Call of Duty last night and he insists everyone test it together. 'Family bonding,'" he added, doing his best impression of Emmett's booming voice. "'Even the brooding one in the tree.'"
Edward didn't even look at him. "Tell him I'm occupied."
Hadrian followed his line of sight, his lips curling into another smirk. "Oh yes. Very occupied. She's stabbing holes in her notebook and you're—" he mimed clawing a branch— "about two seconds from murdering Newton in broad daylight. Very productive."
Edward's jaw worked silently as he tracked Bella's every little motion — her frown, her downcast eyes, her fingers tightening around her pen.
Hadrian tilted his head, his expression softening just slightly. "She's tougher than she looks, you know," he said, his voice quieter now.
Edward didn't reply, though his grip loosened just a fraction.
Hadrian's grin returned as Mike finally slunk back into the building, leaving Bella alone again. He clapped his hands once, softly. "And that," he declared, "proves Newton is an idiot."
That earned the faintest huff of amusement out of Edward.
Hadrian's grin widened. "Oh good. A little life in the vampire yet."
Edward finally, finally looked away from the bench, the corner of his mouth tugging upward in something that almost resembled a smile.
Hadrian straightened and brushed his hands off, clearly satisfied. "Well. I'll tell Emmett you're too busy pining to play video games. He'll pretend to be disappointed. Rosalie won't even bother pretending."
Edward gave him a cool glance. "She never does."
Hadrian smirked, and with a faint pop of displaced air and a shimmer of emerald light, he was gone.
Edward stayed where he was, motionless, the wind ruffling through his bronze hair.
Newton was an idiot.
But what did that make him?
He closed his eyes, jaw tight, and when he opened them again… the sun was still too bright.
And she was still too far away.
—
By fourth period, Bella could already feel her composure unraveling.
It wasn't just that Edward wasn't here.
It was that none of them were here.
Not Edward. Not Hadrian. Not Daenerys Not Alice. Not Jasper. Not even Emmett, who usually couldn't walk through a room without everyone hearing about it.
She didn't even need to scan the cafeteria to know — though she still did, of course. Her eyes betrayed her every time. Flick, flick, flick — over the usual suspects and the unfamiliar ones and, always, to that corner table where the Cullens should have been.
Empty.
Painfully, glaringly empty.
She poked at her salad with all the enthusiasm of someone about to take a chemistry pop quiz. The lettuce flopped listlessly under her fork.
Across the table, Jessica was in full-on performance mode.
"You know," Jess said, voice high and cheerful, holding a fry like it was a wand she could conjure boyfriends with, "we were talking, and we thought we'd head to Port Angeles tomorrow night. Or maybe tonight, if you guys are up for it? Dress shopping. Big adventure. Prom's coming up way faster than anyone's ready for."
Angela perked up slightly at that, tucking a piece of dark hair behind her ear. "I still haven't found anything that doesn't make me look like a hostess at Red Lobster," she said, her laugh soft and self-deprecating.
Lauren — at the end of the table, filing her nails like the cafeteria was her salon — muttered something that could have been agreement, or maybe just general disdain. Hard to tell with her.
Bella stabbed another piece of lettuce.
She hadn't planned to go shopping. Honestly, she'd planned to go home, slam her door shut, and Google every possible combination of inhuman reflexes and golden eyes until she gave herself a migraine.
But now Jessica was looking at her.
And Angela.
Both of them with expectant, wide-eyed expressions that Bella wanted very much to duck under the table to avoid.
Jess leaned forward, her grin just this side of predatory. "Well? What about you, Bella? You coming with us?"
Bella froze mid-bite.
This was her moment. She could still say no. She could say she had homework or a headache or just—whatever.
She wasn't even going to the stupid dance. She'd made that perfectly clear.
And yet.
She thought of the Cullens' table. Empty. The way the room still felt too big without him in it.
And she hated herself just a little for it, but the words came anyway.
"Sure," she muttered, forcing a crooked little smile. "Why not?"
Jessica's face lit up like she'd just won prom queen three years early.
"See? That's the spirit," she said, clapping her hands together. "Forks is already depressing enough. At least pretend to be excited about something."
Angela smiled too, though hers was softer. Warmer. The kind of smile that didn't feel like it was judging her. "It'll be fun," she said gently. "Even if you're not going to the dance, you can still find something pretty. Or just help us pick out ours."
Bella nodded vaguely, stabbing her lettuce with renewed vengeance. "Yeah. Fun."
Jessica caught the flatness in her tone and arched one of her perfect little eyebrows. "Wow, don't all jump for joy at once," she deadpanned, though there was a flicker of something sharper underneath.
Bella looked up and gave her a thin, dry smile. "Sorry. It's just… hard to compete with the sheer thrill of fluorescent lighting and polyester."
Angela laughed quietly, hiding it behind her hand. Even Jessica cracked a grin.
Lauren, for her part, still didn't look up from her nails.
Bella let her eyes wander once more — just once — to the corner table.
Still empty.
Her stomach dropped like it hadn't quite gotten the memo that she was supposed to be smiling.
And with that, she knew she was really, truly going to Port Angeles.
If Edward Cullen could disappear on a whim, so could she.
Even if just for one night.
—
The rest of the day passed like molasses.
Not even the normal kind of molasses. Like… molasses someone had refrigerated for a decade and then poured uphill.
Every clock Bella glanced at seemed to actively taunt her. Every teacher's voice somehow dropped to a crawl. Every single hallway she walked down felt a little too loud, a little too bright, like the whole school was in on the joke of her pathetic mood.
By the time the final bell rang, she didn't even wait for the halls to clear before she was already halfway to the parking lot.
What was the point of pretending?
She already knew what she'd see — or rather, what she wouldn't see. No silver Volvo. No bronze hair glinting in the sun. No crooked smile thrown her way like a secret message.
Just her rusty old truck, sitting where she'd left it, looking as tired as she felt.
She gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly as she pulled out of the lot, and when the gears ground on the way into second she muttered under her breath, "Yeah, yeah. Me too."
Home was mercifully quiet when she got there. The kind of quiet that could either comfort you or crush you, depending on what kind of day you were having.
She stomped upstairs and collapsed face-first onto her pillow without even kicking her shoes off.
She wasn't asleep. She wasn't crying. She just… was.
When she finally sat up again, the room was glowing pink with late-afternoon light, and her stomach had started to twist into uncomfortable little knots.
She still hadn't decided what she was going to wear to Port Angeles. Or if she was even going to pretend to care about what she wore.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, lighting up with JESSICA in all caps.
She snatched it up on the second buzz.
"Hello?" she said, sharper than she meant to.
"Whoa, okay, claws away," Jessica's voice chimed on the other end, dripping with mock offense. "Anyway — hi. Relax. It's just me."
Bella pinched the bridge of her nose and leaned back against her headboard. "Hi, Jessica," she muttered.
"So!" Jessica said, and Bella could practically hear her tossing her hair. "Slight change of plans for tonight."
Bella's stomach sank a little lower, even though she'd seen this coming from a mile away.
Jessica barreled on. "Mike just called me — literally, like, five minutes ago — and he finally asked me to dinner. I mean, it's about time, right? I said yes, obviously. Duh."
Bella closed her eyes and let her head thunk back against the wall. "Obviously," she echoed.
"So…" Jessica's voice took on that faux-apologetic lilt Bella already hated. "We're moving Port Angeles to tomorrow. Which is totally fine, because that gives us more time to plan and coordinate and maybe convince Lauren not to wear something that makes her look like an extra from Laguna Beach."
Bella exhaled slowly through her nose. "Tomorrow," she repeated flatly.
There was a pause, just long enough for Jessica to misinterpret it.
"You're cool with that, right?" Jessica asked, though it was clear she didn't actually care if Bella was cool with it.
"Sure," Bella said, her tone bone-dry. "Wouldn't dream of standing between you and true love."
Jessica giggled in that high, breathy way of hers. "Oh my god, right? He's such a dork, but, like… a cute dork. Finally worked up the nerve, though. I swear, I thought he was gonna die of indecision and leave me waiting until prom."
Bella hummed vaguely, already regretting picking up the phone.
Jessica wasn't done. "Anyway," she chirped, "see you tomorrow! Bring cash. And, like, try to act excited, okay? This is, like… fun. Girl bonding. Shopping. All that."
"Yeah. Fun," Bella said, voice dry enough to be sandpaper.
"Okay! Bye!" Jessica sang, hanging up without waiting for Bella's reply.
Bella stared at the phone in her hand for a long moment before letting it drop back onto her comforter.
On the one hand… she didn't have to drag herself under the soul-killing fluorescent lights of some sad little strip mall tonight. She could stay here, in the quiet, and mope without an audience.
On the other hand…
It still stung, more than she wanted to admit, that even Jessica — Jessica, of all people — had someone who was willing to show up for her.
Bella groaned and flopped onto her back, staring up at the ceiling like it personally owed her an apology.
If Edward Cullen could vanish on a whim, apparently so could everyone else.
She shut her eyes and stayed that way, very determinedly not thinking about tomorrow.
—
After Jessica hung up, Bella stayed in bed longer than was strictly dignified — sprawled flat on her stomach, cheek pressed into the comforter, glaring at her ceiling like it might suddenly split open and offer her some kind of divine reprieve.
It didn't.
No crack of light. No booming narrator voice saying, "And lo, you shall be delivered from your own humiliating crush on an emotionally unavailable mythical creature."
Figures.
Finally, she peeled herself up, moving with all the enthusiasm of someone wading through wet cement, and shuffled over to her ancient Dell laptop. The fan whined like it was dying, and the screen flickered ominously before settling into her inbox.
And there it was — right at the top. Subject line, obnoxiously cheerful and punctuated with a smiley: SUNNY AGAIN TODAY! LUCKY YOU :)
Bella rolled her eyes before even clicking. Her mother's emails were always a strange cocktail of California sunshine, minor-league baseball trivia, and guilt hidden in little breezy phrases.
Bells!
How's my favorite daughter? (Okay, my only daughter, but whatever. It still counts.) How's Forks? I saw on the Weather Channel it's sunny up there again. Clearly this is a sign. Maybe the universe is trying to tell you it's not that bad, see? (You're welcome.)
Phil's game last night was amazing!! He hit a double, and I swear I screamed louder than the guy who actually scored. Pretty sure the people sitting in front of me are still deaf. But, hey — embarrassing him is basically my job. You'd have been proud of me.
Anyway — miss you like crazy. I keep looking at the kitchen table expecting you to be there with your nose in a book. (Phil keeps saying, "Why don't you just call her?" but I don't want to bug you if you're busy with… calculus? Or is it trigonometry? Or something worse?) So just email me, even if it's just to tell me you're alive.
Love you, honey. Don't forget sunscreen if it's still sunny. Not even joking. You burn like toast.
Love, Mom.
Bella huffed out half a laugh through her nose. Leave it to Renee to make missing her sound like an afterthought between sunscreen reminders and minor-league updates.
She stared at the blinking cursor for a minute longer than she should have, drumming her fingers on the keyboard before finally typing back:
Alive. Sunny. Not calculus, just homework. Tell Phil congrats. Miss you too. Will call soon. Love, Bella.
She hit send before she could overthink it, then sat back in the creaky desk chair, staring at her inbox like it might — miraculously — reply with something useful.
It didn't.
So she shut the laptop and grabbed the thickest book she owned — her trusty Collected Works of Jane Austen. Big enough to kill a spider, heavy enough to use as a doorstop, reliable enough to drown in when her brain wouldn't shut up.
If she couldn't stop thinking about her own life, she could at least live in someone else's for a while.
The backyard was surprisingly… pleasant. The sun was dipping low and gold now, softer than it had been at lunch, the air cool enough to keep the damp grass from steaming but still warm enough to sit without a jacket.
She dragged one of the rickety lawn chairs over into the sunlight, kicked her feet up onto the second one, and opened to Sense and Sensibility.
For the first three chapters, she actually managed to forget herself a little. She let Marianne and Elinor and all their minor heartbreaks fill her head instead of bronze hair and empty tables and the way the world felt just slightly off-kilter without him in it.
But then.
Edward Ferrars.
Edward this. Edward that. Edward being noble and conflicted and frustratingly perfect in all the ways that made her want to throw the book into the bushes.
And even when it wasn't Edward, it was Edmund. Or some other name close enough to make her chest tighten.
By chapter five, she was scowling at the page like it had betrayed her.
With an exasperated groan, she let the book flop shut in her lap and leaned her head back.
The sun was warm against her face, bright enough through her closed eyelids to paint everything in shades of red and gold.
She stayed there, listening to the faint hum of traffic from somewhere far off, birds squabbling in the trees behind her, the occasional creak of the chair shifting under her.
And she told herself she wasn't thinking about him.
Wasn't imagining him leaning against his car with that infuriating smirk.
Wasn't imagining his voice — low and amused and somehow cutting her to pieces without even trying.
She tried.
She failed.
Because apparently even Jane Austen had betrayed her.
And the sun, for all its warmth, still wasn't enough to burn Edward Cullen out of her head.
—
Edward had told himself he wouldn't come here.
And then he came anyway.
It was disgraceful, the way his feet had carried him here on their own. As though his body no longer recognized his better judgement.
He stayed in the deepest shade he could find — a high limb of a towering fir that clung to the border of her yard. The light was still too bright, even here. His skin would betray him if she so much as glanced in the wrong direction.
But she never did.
He watched as she emerged from the back door, a thick book clutched to her chest like a shield.
Edward froze — as if she'd somehow spotted him anyway — but she didn't look up. Didn't even pause.
She just… walked into the sunlight like it belonged to her.
And part of him — the darker, selfish part — wondered if she'd done it on purpose.
As though she knew he was watching.
As though she pitied him.
The thought made his jaw tighten.
She settled into an old chair in the yard, crossing her legs and propping her feet on another, flipping open her book like she didn't have a care in the world.
Her face softened almost immediately, her lips twitching into the faintest suggestion of a smile as she lost herself in the words.
Edward stayed perfectly still, perfectly silent, his fingers digging into the rough bark beneath them.
He should leave.
He knew that.
Every second he stayed was another risk — not just to himself, but to her.
And yet he didn't.
Because every second was also another chance to see her.
She read quietly for a while, her expression relaxed in the warm light. And Edward, against every ounce of discipline he had ever honed, allowed himself to imagine what it might be like if he were closer.
Closer than this cursed tree.
Close enough to see exactly what words she was reading. Close enough to catch the faint smell of her shampoo, the impossible heat of her blood just under her skin—
No.
His hands flexed into fists until the branch groaned softly in protest.
And then — suddenly — she stiffened.
Her brow furrowed. Her mouth pressed into a line.
And then, impossibly, she glared down at the book.
Edward blinked, startled.
He leaned forward the slightest degree, baffled as she let out a low sound of frustration, shut the book with a sharp snap, and dropped it into her lap.
She tilted her head back, sighing into the sunlight, her expression a strange mixture of… resignation and annoyance.
At… a book?
Edward's lips parted in quiet confusion.
What on earth could a book possibly say to elicit that particular look on her face?
His fingers twitched, almost instinctively reaching for the thread of her thoughts — only to find, of course, nothing.
That infuriating silence.
He nearly laughed bitterly at himself. All the minds in the world at his disposal, and hers — the one he most desperately wanted to understand — remained stubbornly, maddeningly blank.
And now here she was, growing visibly frustrated at a book, and he couldn't even begin to guess why.
He told himself — again — to leave.
She would never notice if he slipped away now.
But he didn't.
He stayed there instead.
Watching her bask in the golden light, trying and failing to guess what thoughts were turning behind her deep brown eyes.
And wondering why it felt like every time she frowned — at a book, no less — it hurt him more than anything else in the world ever had.
--
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord (HHHwRsB6wd) server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Can't wait to see you there!