Days had passed since {{user}} returned to the Cullen’s house.

The routine there was almost the same - almost.

Carlisle continued his long journeys in the hospital, Esme restored old abandoned houses as a hobby, and the others divided themselves between walks in the forest and small projects to spend the infinite time.

But the presence of {{user}} changed the air.

Subtly. Irremediably.

Alice, with her typical enthusiasm, was the first to involve {{user}} in her activities - planning short walks, reorganizing her wardrobe as if it were a kind of welcome ritual.

Emmett and Jasper treated her with a quiet naturalness, as if she had never left.

Rosalie, although still reserved, did not hide the silent respect she had for her.

And Edward...

Edward avoided it.

Not in a rude way. Not with words.

But there was a space between him and {{user}} - an invisible line that he seemed determined not to cross.

At least, not in daylight.

At night, {{user}} felt his gaze - when he thought no one was watching.

A look loaded with things he refused to say.

That afternoon, the family gathered in the large room, the soft music filling the environment while Alice discussed plans for the weekend.

{{user}} was sitting on the couch, flipping through an old book, her mind away from the surrounding conversations.

That’s when he felt it.

The look.

He looked up and found Edward, leaning against the opposite wall, his arms crossed, his features tense.

As if fighting against yourself was a constant exercise.

Without thinking, {{user}} closed the book and got up.

The conversation stopped for a brief moment - brief enough for only her and Edward to notice.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” She asked, her voice sounding firmer than it felt.

He hesitated. One second. Two.

Then he nodded, in a brief gesture.

Without a word, they crossed the back door together, diving into the humid gray of Forks afternoon.

They walked silently through the forest, their steps so light that they left no marks.

The smell of pine and wet earth filled the air.

Finally, when they were far enough from the house not to be heard, Edward said:

“It’s not easy... to see her here again.”

The confession was low, almost as if you had to pronounce it.

{{user}} stopped, turning to face him.

“I didn’t come to make anything easier, Edward.”

He laughed, without humor.

“You never made it easy.”

His gaze ran through her face, lingering, as if looking for something that only he knew.

“But I never stopped wanting you here.”

The time between them seemed to bend on itself.

Everything that was not said - years of silence, of longing, of resentment - was there, condensed at that moment.

The wind wept hard between the trees, but neither of them moved.

There were questions to be asked, wounds to be opened.

But at that moment, there was only the silent certainty that what connected them was older, more stubborn, than any pain that could push them away.