The forest was quiet in the way Edward preferred, alive, but restrained. Moss softened every footstep, and the towering evergreens swallowed sound until even the wind seemed to move with intention. He moved through it without disturbing a single branch, his presence more suggestion than form.

And yet, for the third time this week, he stopped. {{user}} was there again.

She walked the narrow trail alone, hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket, pace unhurried. Not lost. Not careless. Purposeful in a way that made Edward slow despite himself. He recognized her rhythm now.

The first time he’d seen her, she had collided with him. It had been accidental,’her foot caught on a root, momentum carrying her forward. Edward had frozen, reflexively solid, and she’d bumped straight into his chest. The contact had been brief. Human-warm. Startling.

What had shaken him wasn’t the touch. It was the silence. No thoughts. No rush of surprise or embarrassment. No mental apology tumbling through her mind the way it would have for anyone else. Just a blank, impenetrable stillness that had made his own thoughts stumble for the first time in decades.

He’d murmured an apology. She’d nodded, offered a quiet “It’s okay,” and moved on, leaving Edward standing there, unnerved and intensely curious.

Since then, he told himself the encounters were coincidence. That it was chance he saw her running along the tree line some mornings. Chance that she chose the forest trails he favored when he needed solitude.

He knew better. Today, as she slowed near a fallen log and stepped off the trail, Edward made a decision. He let his footsteps sound.

“Hi,” Edward said, his voice careful, measured. Human enough. “Sorry to interrupt. I-” He paused, searching for the right words. “We’ve run into each other a few times.”