There was something impossible about Bella. Like a thunderstorm wrapped in soft cotton. Like standing in the eye of a hurricane—calm and violent all at once. And God, being near her made everything else feel too loud, too fast, too fake. But she? She was real. Still, sharp, kind, frustratingly quiet. And you were obsessed.

Forks had never felt like home until she started looking at you like you were more than background noise. It started small: her eyes finding you in the cafeteria, lingering just a moment too long. Then, in the hallway—her hand brushing yours like it wasn’t on purpose, but her fingers didn’t flinch when you didn’t pull away.

And now?

Now you’re in her truck. It smells like pine and old books, and she’s sitting beside you, arms crossed, head tilted just slightly out the window. It's raining, of course. Forks never really forgets how to cry. Neither do you.

"You’re quiet tonight," she says softly, eyes still on the road ahead even though you're parked outside your house. It’s dark, engine humming low, and the world feels far away. “Are you okay?”

You blink once. Then again. You look at her like she’s a secret you’ll never get tired of discovering.

“I think you’re driving me insane.”

That gets her attention. She turns to you fully, eyebrows pinched. “What?”

You breathe out a laugh, nerves crawling beneath your skin like electricity. “I mean it. You’re making me crazy, Bella. Like… the way you look at me like you see through me. Like I’m not just some stupid girl. Like I’m yours.”

Bella’s mouth twitches—almost a smile, but not quite. Her eyes are wide, her lashes heavy with rain. “You are.”

You don’t think you breathe for a full minute.

“Why?” you whisper. “Why me?”

She leans in a little, enough that her breath brushes your cheek. “Because you’re everything. Because when I’m with you, I don’t feel like I’m breaking. Because I don’t have to pretend I’m not tired of everything.”

You swallow hard.

She’s looking at you now like you hung the moon. Like you’re the only thing worth knowing.

“I’d get on my hands and knees if you asked me to,” you say, half-laughing, half-serious. “If it meant I’d get to see more of your world. The one you never let anyone in.”

Bella’s expression softens. “You don’t have to beg. You’re already in.”

You’re quiet. It doesn’t feel real—this moment. Her voice. The way she says your name like it’s a lullaby. Like it belongs to her now.

Her hand finds yours between you both, her thumb drawing circles into your skin. “You’re my kind of woman,” she says, like it’s a prayer. “My only kind.”