Twilight The Stranger's Gaze

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The day at La Push ended surprisingly well.

After their conversation, Mike, feeling braver than usual, gathered the courage to ask Jessica to the prom. She hesitated for only a second—as if she needed to remember whether she was still upset—and then accepted with an enchanted smile.

Nate was struck by how quickly Jessica's mood shifted, as though she had an internal switch aligning her to whatever served her best. He didn't judge her for it… but it did feel a bit peculiar.

The drive home, alone in his car, was the best part. The silence let him think clearly, and he promised himself he would never get involved in something like that again. Never.

While driving, Bella's face drifted into his mind. The stories Jacob had shared were more than enough for her to form a theory alarmingly close to the truth. He knew her mind well—she wouldn't let it go. And if Nate knew her as well as he thought, she wouldn't wait a single day before confronting Edward.

That night he went to sleep expecting change. It was inevitable.

The next morning began like any other in Forks: overcast skies, steady drizzle, and sleepy students moving through halls with soaked backpacks.

Nate entered his first class, took his usual seat, and didn't have to wait long before Eric slid into the desk next to him, visibly enthusiastic.

"Hey," he whispered with a triumphant grin. "Remember yesterday? You know… Mike and Jessica?"

"Yeah," Nate replied with little interest.

"Well… that encouraged me. So this morning I asked Angela."

Nate looked at him, surprised this time. "And?"

"She said yes," Eric answered with a brief, nervous laugh.

Nate nodded, crossing his arms. "Angela's nice. Good choice."

Eric seemed to puff up with pride. "Yeah, that's what I thought. I don't know why I didn't think of it before."

Nate stayed silent, gazing out the window as class began. The rain fell in that hypnotic rhythm that seemed to seep into the city's bones.

Second and third periods passed without incident—homework, lectures, yawning students, teachers on autopilot. No one seemed to notice the undercurrent of tension—anticipation—for Nate it was the calm before something important.

It changed in the fourth period—Government.

Nate sat down at his usual desk and, shortly after, Edward Cullen entered the room.

Since their conversation in the woods, they had come to an unspoken agreement to avoid one another, as though they'd decided not to exist in each other's presence. Nate, having promised to wait until Bella discovered the truth, spent that class staring out the window. And Edward, who had grown self-conscious about talking to Nate—perhaps because someone for the first time had looked at him with unsettling clarity—was content to sit on the opposite side of the classroom.

But that morning, against all expectations, Edward, still showing reluctance in his expression, moved to the seat next to Nate.

It wasn't accidental. Space wasn't limited. The room was half empty. It was a choice.

Nate barely turned his face. He studied him briefly. Edward's posture was tight, his knuckles slightly white on the desk.

"Are you sure you want this?" Nate murmured in a voice so low it barely rose above the tapping of rain against the windows.

Edward didn't answer immediately. He looked like he was weighing whether to talk or get up again. Finally, he said:

"I wouldn't sit next to you if it wasn't important."

Nate turned his head slightly, still not looking at him directly. He didn't respond. He just dropped his gaze to the desk, irritated by the interruption, waiting. For something to start.

Edward swallowed. His voice dropped lower.

"This morning… I ran into Bella in the parking lot."

Nate raised an eyebrow, silent.

"She said she wanted to talk to me. That it was important. She didn't elaborate, but… I saw it in her eyes."

Nate released a dismissive sigh.

"And what does that have to do with me?"

"I just want to know…" Edward hesitated. His gaze hardened slightly—more anxiety than annoyance. "Did you tell her anything?"

Nate slowly turned to face him, expression cold, restrained.

"No."

A dry, precise word. He wasn't going to do him the favor of prolonging the answer.

Edward seemed to relax just a little, but his hands remained tense on his knees. Nate noticed. He also noted the brittleness Edward tried to hide behind a calm facade.

"I swear, Nate, I'm not here to blame you. I just… need to know how much she knows. I can't read her mind, and I don't know how to approach this. You're the one closest to her, you must have some idea…"

"That doesn't mean I owe you any answers." Nate turned to face forward, firm.

Edward drew a deep breath.

"I don't want you to think I'm pressuring you. I just… don't know how to tell her the truth. I'm not ready. Not yet."

Nate frowned slightly in disgust.

"You knew it was only a matter of time."

Edward lowered his gaze.

"Maybe you're right. I didn't want this to happen. But what's done is done. I can't undo how I feel. And she… she deserves to know. Just… not today."

Nate clenched his jaw. A silent rage welled up inside him. Maybe it was because Edward had so many chances to do the right thing—and still chose the coward's route.

"She already has a pretty solid idea, you know? You can't avoid this forever."

Edward nodded, resigned.

"It had to come eventually," he murmured. "We've been talking a lot… and maybe I dropped hints. I just didn't expect her to pick up on them this fast."

As though Nate's silence was all the permission he needed, he spoke quickly—voice nearly pleading, mostly to himself, not Nate:

"Just one day. One more day. To figure out how to tell her."

"As if that would change anything," Nate muttered, eyes fixed on the front.

Edward nodded again, resigned and sad.

"I know. Thank you… for not telling her."

Nate remained silent, and didn't look at him. He stayed seated, immobile, his back straight, expression taut.

Edward understood. He rose silently and returned to his place on the opposite side, his steps slower than usual.

Nate watched him for only a few seconds before letting out a low sigh.