Twilight The Stranger's Gaze

If you want to support (To continue with the chapters and improve the quality of the language)or read some advance chapters +8 (this week I will upload several chapters to Patreon) please follow me on: patreon.com/Jayjayempi

The way back home was silent.

Nate didn't turn on the radio. He wasn't in the mood for music or noise. The silence felt more comfortable than any melody trying to soothe what he felt: a thick, uncomfortable conflict pressing on his chest.

He had argued with Edward. He had said things that —in his head— still seemed right. But there was something in the vampire's eyes, in the desperate tone that slipped into his words, that stirred something deeper than simple disdain.

It wasn't full empathy. It wasn't forgiveness.

It was more like the bitter awareness of watching someone who had already crossed a point of no return.

He parked in front of his house. The engine stopped with a soft purr, as if the car, too, needed to rest. Nate leaned his forehead against the steering wheel for a few seconds. He closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. Then, I got out.

From the living room window, a warm light filtered through the curtains. It was one of those domestic scenes that, at another point in his life, would have seemed mundane. Now he valued them as anchors.

Inside, his grandmother was sitting on the floor, legs crossed, moving a string with a feather at the end. Her old cat lazily batted at it in the air, more out of habit than genuine interest.

When she saw him come in, the woman looked up and smiled.

"Look who's back early for a change. I thought, being Sunday, you wouldn't be back until dusk."

Nate gave a small smile — forced, almost mechanical.

"I just had to take care of a few things quickly."

His grandmother stood up with surprising agility for her age, brushed off her hands, and walked toward him with the calm of someone who owes no hurry to anyone.

"You've been tense these past few days," she said, watching him with those bright eyes that never seemed to age. "Quieter than usual. And that's saying something, considering you're already an expert at staying quiet."

Nate let out a brief sigh. He was exhausted. Emotionally. He had been holding so much inside, carrying it as if it were his sole responsibility. But this time… he needed another voice. An external one. Someone who wouldn't try to push or stop him — just listen.

"Can I ask you something?" he murmured.

"You already did, sweetheart," she replied with a smile, gesturing for him to follow her.

They walked to the kitchen in silence. His grandmother started making tea. While the water boiled, Nate ran a hand through his hair, searching for the right way to untangle the knot inside him.

He rested his elbows on the table and spoke.

"Let's say someone close to you… is getting involved in something complicated. Not necessarily bad, but… risky. Something that could hurt them — maybe even worse."

The woman watched him over the rim of her cup, not interrupting.

"And you know you could stop it. You could step in and pull them out before it's too late," he continued. "But… doing that would mean deciding for them. Taking control of their life. And you don't know if that's the right thing. You just know you want to protect them."

His grandmother nodded slowly. It was clear she weighed each word as if it carried more weight than it seemed.

"And does this person want to be there? In that risky situation?"

Nate lowered his gaze.

"I don't know. I think so. They're intrigued. Maybe even… drawn to it. But they don't have the full picture, they don't see the risks the way I do."

His grandmother watched him for a few seconds before speaking.

"You're a smart boy, Nathaniel. If it were really as dangerous as you say, you wouldn't even be asking me. The fact that you have doubts means there's something good in that 'dangerous environment'."

Nate thought for a few seconds. He knew the Cullens weren't as bad as he'd thought at first. Yes, they were dangerous but any human had the potential to be, too, right? Shouldn't Bella be the one to decide if she wanted to take that risk or not?

His grandmother looked at him in silence, set the cup down on the table, and gently spun it between her fingers. Then, as if seeing the turmoil inside him, she spoke.

"When you were a child and learning to ride a bike, do you remember how hard it was for your parents not to hold onto you the whole time?"

Nate looked up, confused.

"They wanted to protect you. They wanted to keep you from falling, from scraping your knees. But if they hadn't let go… you never would've learned. And yes, you fell. You got hurt. You cried. But you also got back up. And that was the important part."

Nate stayed silent. He listened to her like someone hearing a story that, though familiar, made real sense for the first time.

"Everyone deserves the freedom to make mistakes," she went on. "Even if it means they'll suffer. It's not about leaving them alone… but being close in case they need us. Sometimes, protecting someone doesn't mean preventing the pain it means being there when they face it."

He lowered his gaze again. Her words weighed heavier because they were true. Because deep down, what was eating him up wasn't just the fear for Bella it was the helplessness of not being able to save her his way of not being able to control the board.

"And what if the damage is irreversible?" he asked, almost in a whisper. "Isn't it better to prevent it?"

His grandmother looked at him with tenderness, without judgment.

"Of course. But tell me: who decides what's irreversible? You? Me? What if what we think is a wound… is, for them, part of their growth?"

Silence.

"Loving someone —whether family, friend or something more— doesn't give us the right to live their life for them. It only gives us the duty to be present."

Nate nodded, very slowly. The truth in her words struck deep. He didn't need to name anyone. There was no need. She understood. She always understood.

And that shared silence, that unspoken complicity, was wiser than any explicit confession.

"Thank you," he murmured at last.

"It's the duty of incredibly smart people to guide others, sweetheart," she replied with a soft smile and a wink. "Now go get some sleep, darling. You're back in school tomorrow and have lots of people to punch."

Nate laughed, for the first time in hours. A light, sincere laugh. He stood, leaned over, and kissed her on the head before going upstairs.

That night, as he lay in bed, he thought of Bella. Of Edward. Of Alice.

And for the first time, he didn't feel rage or urgency... but an uncomfortable, honest acceptance: he couldn't control other people's paths.

Bella would have to make her own decision. When she had all the information, if she decided she wanted to walk away, Nate would help her leave them behind.

If she decided she wanted to stay… then he would do everything in his power to keep her safe.