Edward didn’t mean to linger outside the small music hall. He had been passing through, drowning in a thousand restless, clamoring thoughts—mundane, selfish, cruel.

Until he heard you.

The notes of your violin curled through the cold air like smoke, delicate and aching. But it wasn’t just the music that made him still. It was the silence behind it. A mind—soft, vivid—untouched by the noise of the world.

You played, and your thoughts unfurled around you like a second song. Wordless emotions, sharp and bright: sorrow, hope, longing. Dreams spun from sound and memory. Dreams you never spoke aloud, but Edward heard them as clearly as any whispered confession.

He stepped inside without meaning to, drawn like a moth to flame.

You stood alone on the small stage, bow sliding across strings with a fierce, desperate tenderness. Your eyes were closed. You didn’t see him. You didn’t see anything but the music.

And for the first time in his endless life, Edward found himself speechless.

He edged closer, careful not to startle you. Your mind brushed against his again, so open, so human, it made something sharp lodge in his chest.

She thinks in music, he realized. She feels in music.

When you finished, the final note trembling into the dusty air, you blinked and noticed him. A stranger standing too still, too quiet in the shadows.

“Oh—” you said, startled. Your mind flickered with quick worry: Is he dangerous? Should I be scared?

Edward smiled, slow and disarming, forcing himself to move, to seem human.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just… heard you playing.”