Edward Cullen.

The truth is, I don’t know him.

I know his name and where he goes to school, because he goes to Phoenix South High, where I go. 

And I know his name, because he’s the most popular guy in school. 

Bronze, wind-blown hair, vivid green eyes, the most slender hands I've ever seen, that somehow look like they can protect… I watch him cough, shift his weight. He doesn’t look at me.

Edward Cullen – I know his name, but then again, everybody knows his name.


The bus jerks to a stop at the next stop, at which a bunch of girls get on. I catch myself staring at him and force myself to avert my eyes.

I look out of the window – I don’t know them, and they don’t know me… but they know Edward. I can hear them chatting with Edward, their voices high and excited. I can hear Edward’s voice, friendly and polite, but – distracted?  

I feel a twinge in my chest. At least they can talk to him. Although I’m not particularly unpopular or timid, I definitely don’t have the guts to just talk to him. It’s not like he remembers me…


I like him.

I’ve liked him ever since junior high. I was on my way to school, on this bus – or maybe it was a different one, but the same number nonetheless – and Edward got on. I knew who he was – he wasn’t as popular as he is now, but he was still known among the girls as the ‘pretty face’ – but he couldn’t possibly have known me. 

He stood next to me.

Back then, I was a really shy girl. Even though he probably didn’t even know I was in his school, I kept my face down, away from him. I didn’t know what to do with my hands, so I stuffed them in my jean pockets.

I thought he was looking at me, or maybe he wasn’t. I didn’t dare to look at him. 

The bus finally pulled up at my stop – our stop - and hurriedly I got off the bus… only to be knocked by some middle-aged man, late for work.

I fell, and my cell phone hit the ground with a thud, then bounced. 

The bus, together with the middle-aged man, drove off. I didn’t particularly blame him, but it didn’t feel nice to be hit over without even an apology, after all.

I heard Edward ask me whether I was okay, in a concerned voice I can almost remember until now, and saw his slender hand pick up my cell phone. I got up off the ground, blushing furiously and thanked him.

I hated how my voice sounded then: rough and shaky and scared.

I remember his polite smile as he handed my cell phone back to me. His warm scent, as he leaned in to whisper, “Next time, tell him off, okay? Don’t suffer in silence.”

I remember his quiet chuckle as he walked off, the crease in the back of his shirt where his shoulders were. 

I remember thinking that there was something about him that didn’t quite fit his friendly smile, as if he were hiding something beneath that chuckle.

Am I qualified to say that I love him?

*

“Morning, Bella!” Angela quips.

“Morning,” I reply, smiling. 

“So…”

I tilt my head to the side. “So?”

“So… did you see him again this morning?” she asks, in a fierce whisper.

Angela knows about my crush, but she doesn’t think it’s silly or irrational. She says that it’s “perfectly understandable that I like him.” Maybe that’s why we’re such good friends, because she always says the right things, things that I want to believe.

"Yeah. He was with some other girls,” I reply, concentrating on the work that I’d fallen asleep on the night before.

“You know, I think you should tell him that you like him. It’s been, what, two years?”

“He doesn’t know I exist,” I answer, then look up. Angela’s braiding her sleek black hair, and she grins when I look at her. “I’ll tell him when you tell Ben you like him,” I tease.

As expected, Angela’s face goes red. “You know I can’t! I have a perfectly good reason!”

“What’s your reason? You guys are friends, he’s nice to you, you like him…”

“Yeah, but I’m also older than him!” 

“Just by a year!” I protest. “I honestly think he’s head over heels for you,” I comment, laughing a little as her face goes slightly redder.

Angela finishes up with her braid, then looks me in the eye. She has that sly glint there every time she comes up with something to dare with me. “If I tell Ben I like him, then you’ll have to tell Edward Cullen you like him. Deal?”

I roll my eyes. We both know that neither of us are going to tell them until at least after we graduate, so I nod. “Deal.”



Lunch hour. People, more people. None of these people are Angela, but that’s because she told me she’ll be a little late, and asked me to wait for her at our usual table.

I glance down lazily at my food.

It’s not fun if you have to eat alone…

I startle. Déjà vu… it felt so real, almost like a memory?

What if déjà vu were simply memories from a past, forgotten time? A lost world, somewhere that once existed, or is existing, just waiting to be rediscovered…

“Take out your cell phone!” Angela’s voice calls me back to reality. I duly obey, and she starts to key some stuff into it.

“Here!” she hands me my phone and I look at it – 

Edward Cullen
XXXXXXXX

“What’s this?” I demand, looking around wildly to see if anyone saw that.

That’s when I see him.

“Oh my-… you did it?” I half-yell across the table; no one except Angela, myself, and Ben hears, because the rest of the student body are equally noisy, and because nobody else is paying attention to our conversation.

Angela grins at me, glancing surreptitiously at her hand – which is clasped in Ben’s hand.

“Guess what! Ben knows Edward, ‘cause they’re both in the piano ensemble club… so I got his number for you,” Angela quips.


I stare at my cell phone.

For not talking to him, I have my excuses. For looking away when we meet eyes on the bus, I have my excuses. For not confessing that I like him, I have my excuses.

I don’t have the means. He doesn’t know me, doesn’t even know about me.

I stare at my cell phone, the screen already blacked out. Those excuses… are just excuses. What am I afraid of?

He doesn’t know me. I have nothing to be afraid of.


After school


Hi, this is Bella Swan, you might not know me, but...

Hi, sorry for suddenly sending you a text. I’m Bella...

Hi, this is that girl you always see on the bus...

Hi, remember me...

Hi Edward, I got your number from Ben, who’s...

Hi Edward...
Hi Edwar...
Hi Edwa...
Hi Edw...
Hi Ed...
Hi E...
Hi...
H






I li...

I like...

I like you.


I blush, hugging my phone to my chest. What am I thinking? And what is the ‘appropriate way’ to do this?

Is there even an appropriate way to confess?


I like you.

Draft saved.

That night

I can’t do it, after all. I’ve been pondering it the whole day, staring at my phone and creating so many new messages I think if I laid the words end to end I might fill up my whole room and suffocate, suffocate to death.

I underestimated Angela. It’s not so easy to just confess to someone new, to allow yourself to be so defenseless.

Or… am I just a coward?

I open up the draft, again, again, again.

I like you.

Send.

I can’t! Quickly, I cancel the sending from the outbox, my heart thundering in my chest.

I try to sleep, but it seems like my cell phone, beside me, is radiating some kind of heat. It is burning my hands, burning my chest, burning my mind.

Maybe I’m fine just being a coward.




It’s not fun if you have to eat alone, he says. 
I don’t know if he’s stupid, or if he can’t see my tears. I choose to believe that he can’t see them. If I pretend that there are no tears, then I’m not crying. 

"Go away," I say. "Go away go away go away," I say.

Once, when Daddy said Mommy had to go somewhere to find her dreams and that we can’t meet with her again, I cried. Daddy got angry, and he cried too. It’s because I’m weak, isn’t it? I don’t want to be weak. I don’t want Daddy to cry. 

I shouldn’t cry anymore. Is laughing bad? Yes, laughing is bad. Smiling is bad. Crying is bad. Things that can make Daddy sad, I won’t do them. I won’t do anything. I mustn’t make Daddy sad. If I don’t do anything, nobody will get hurt.

I can hear Daddy talking to his friend from here. His friend’s son, next to me, is taking a bite of my lunch.

"Here, let’s eat together," he says. "It’s not fun if you have to eat alone, you know!"

He picks up a forkful of potato and holds it in front of my mouth. 

"Open up," he says.

I ignore him. If I don’t do anything, nobody will get hurt. I pretend not to hear what people say, because if I hear, I might cry, and if I cry, Daddy will be sad.

The boy puts down the spoon. "Listen," he says. "Listen to your Daddy."

Somehow, I listen.

Daddy is talking to his friend. “I don’t know what I can do with her anymore, Carlisle. I don’t even know if she can hear me! Please, Carlisle, help my daughter… I just want to see her smile. Anything it takes…”

Tears are creeping down my cheeks again.

Daddy wants me to smile?

Even if it might make him sad?

"Bella, don’t cry anymore," the boy says. He wipes my tears with his thin hand."Be strong," he says. 


Be strong.

When I wake up from the dream, it’s already morning. 

 
I see him on the bus, again. This time, I’m standing. At his stop, a middle-aged man gets off and a seat is vacated, but he doesn’t sit down.

He stands next to me.

Discreetly, I inhale his warm scent. It seems to be just yesterday that we were standing here, next to each other. Does he still not know that I exist?

Be strong.

The bus jerks to a stop; it’s my stop – our stop. I get off, and Edward does too. 

This time, there’s no middle-aged man bumping into me. 

This time, I don’t drop my cell phone on the floor. It’s not radiating any heat, either, because I deleted the draft this morning.

I don’t need those things anymore. Am I qualified to love Edward?

Having the ability to love, that makes me qualified, doesn’t it?

Be strong, he’s telling me. Be strong.

“Edward,” I call, my voice rough, shaky, scared.

It’s okay. I’m scared, but I’ll be strong.

I see the crease in his shirt at his shoulders, just before he turns around.

“I love you,” I say, almost a whisper, but he hears.

He hears – he sees my fear, just like that boy who saw through my mask.

I’m in his arms, his slender hands are stroking my face – déjà vu. This feeling, like I’d felt it before, like I’d lived it before…

“Bella,” he sighs. “I thought you’d never remember me.”


I was right, after all. That day, when I thought that he was hiding something beneath that chuckle – I was right. He was hiding his sadness, just like I had once hid mine. 

He’d known me all along, just as I’ve known him.

Not as Edward Cullen, but as that boy.

(A mini postlude)

I key my number into his mobile, then I take mine out.

"Uh." I blush wildly. "I... already have your number. I mean-! It's not like that, Angela, she asked-"

Edward chuckles, nods. "I know. Do you honestly think I let my friends give my number out to anyone who asks?"

I just stare at him dumbly.

"I knew he was asking for you. That's why I gave him..." he exhales loudly, almost a sigh. "I'd been waiting all night for you to call, but you didn't. Do you know how anxious I was?" Edward laughs. "I'm pathetic."

I shake my head. "You're not! I just... I was meaning to send you a message, but..."

I flip open my phone, access the Outbox. The only message whose "sending failed" - I open it and show it shyly to Edward.

As he views it, a grin spreads on his face, until he is smiling widely.

"Bella..." Edward hugs me tightly. "You're so cute, you know that?"