Morning arrived softly.
Too softly.
Forks was wrapped in its usual blanket of grey—clouds hanging low and heavy, pressing against the sky like they'd collectively decided that today was absolutely not a sunlight day. The world outside Amara's window was damp and hushed, mist clinging stubbornly to the trees, the air thick with that permanent Forks gloom that smelled faintly of wet earth and disappointment.
Inside, though, everything was warm.
Amara's room was dim but cozy, curtains half-drawn, letting in a muted silver glow instead of sunshine. Her bed was nothing short of a masterpiece—blankets layered just right, pillows perfectly shaped after years of unconscious negotiation and emotional dependence. She was curled beneath them, breathing slow and even, wrapped in the kind of sleep that only came after emotional exhaustion, social ambushes, and surviving an entire shopping spree with Alice Cullen.
She was gone.
Deep sleep.
Earned sleep.
The kind of sleep you would defend with your life.
In her dream, the world finally made sense
.
No Cullens.
No supernatural nonsense.
No emotional vampires—literal or otherwise.
Just quiet happiness. Maybe a vague meadow. Maybe floating. Maybe an unrealistic universe where mornings didn't exist and people respected the sacred, universal law of don't wake sleeping humans.
It was perfect.
Then—
HOOOOOONK.
Amara twitched.
Not awake—just a small movement. Her brows knitted faintly, lips parting as her brain attempted to process the sound before immediately rejecting it as false information.
She rolled onto her side, hugging her pillow tighter, burying her face into it like someone who had decided reality was optional.
Silence followed.
Good.
The house stayed still.
The world seemed to apologize.
Her breathing evened out again as she drifted back toward her dream—
HOOOOOOONK.
Her eye twitched.
Just one.
Sharp.
Dangerous.
"…No," she mumbled into the pillow, voice muffled and thick with sleep. "Nope. Fake noise. Imaginary. Not today."
She dragged the pillow fully over her head, pressing it down like it might physically block sound itself. Determined. Stubborn.
Committed to sleep like it was a personal mission.
For two blessed seconds, nothing happened.
Then—
HOOOONK. HOOOONK.
The sound was louder this time.
Closer.
Aggressive.
Amara snapped awake.
She bolted upright in bed, blankets sliding down to her waist. Her hair fell loose and flawlessly messy over her shoulders, dark strands tumbling forward to half-cover her face. It was the kind of effortless chaos that would look angelic on anyone else—soft, unreal, like a painting—
Except her expression ruined it completely.
Her face was pure betrayal.
The kind that said I trusted the world
and the world personally chose violence.
She blinked once.
Twice.
"…Who," she said slowly, voice thick with sleep and simmering rage, "is honking like they've lost their damn mind?"
As if summoned—
HOOOOONK.
Her eyes narrowed.
"Oh," she whispered darkly. "Of course."
Edward Cullen.
Bella's evil, emo-faced, boundary-less boyfriend.
At six thirty in the morning.
Amara stared at the wall for a solid three seconds, seriously considering several life choices. If killing with thoughts were possible, Edward would've been dead at least a thousand times by now. Possibly more. She would've upgraded the number just to be petty.
The honk came again—longer this time. Confident. Shameless.
Something inside Amara snapped.
She swung her legs off the bed, stomped across the room, and shoved the window open.
Cold Forks air rushed in.
"So help me," she yelled, voice echoing through the quiet neighborhood, "EDWARD CULLEN—IF YOU HONK ONE MORE TIME, I WILL COME DOWN THERE AND SHOVE THAT HORN SO FAR UP YOUR FACE YOU'LL START BEEPING WHEN YOU BLINK—"
Silence.
She wasn't done.
"I SWEAR ON EVERY BAD DECISION BELLA HAS EVER MADE, I WILL PERSONALLY TURN YOUR CAR INTO SCRAP METAL—"
Still silence.
"And DON'T TEST ME, I HAVEN'T HAD COFFEE!"
A few seconds passed.
No honk.
Amara stood there breathing hard, hair a mess, pajamas wrinkled—looking like an angel who had just threatened violence before breakfast.
Finally, she exhaled and slammed the window shut.
"…Good," she muttered. "Stay scared."
She rubbed her face and grumbled, "Honestly. Annoying like Bella. Perfect match."
Dragging herself back into reality, she glanced at the clock.
6:35 AM.
Her soul left her body.
"Who goes to someone's house at six in the morning and honks like they're summoning demons?" she muttered. "And how is Charlie not awake? Is this house soundproof or am I being targeted specifically?"
Clearly, sleep was over.
Murder fantasies aside.
She shuffled into the bathroom, still half-asleep. The tiles were cold under her feet, instantly waking her further. She groaned and leaned over the sink, splashing cool water onto her face.
One splash.
Then another.
Better.
She brushed her teeth slowly, staring at her reflection like it had personally offended her. Her hair was a disaster—soft, tangled, everywhere—but somehow still looked annoyingly good. She tied it loosely, letting strands fall around her face.
The mirror fogged slightly as she turned on the shower.
Warm water poured down, easing the tension from her shoulders. Steam filled the room, chasing away the last traces of sleep and homicidal intent.
"Next time," she murmured to herself, "I'm installing a sign."
She smirked faintly.
No honking before 9 AM.
Violators will be emotionally damaged.
Wrapped in warmth and steam, Amara finally relaxed.
But deep down, she knew—
If Edward honked again tomorrow?
She wouldn't yell.
She'd snap.
Snap him in half. Huff.
Bella was awake.
Not awake awake—but awake enough to hear something that absolutely should not have been happening at six thirty in the morning.
She lay on her back in bed, staring at the ceiling, wrapped tightly in her blanket.
Outside her window, the driveway was visible through the grey mist—Edward's car parked there like a silent accusation.
Everything was normal.
Too normal.
Then—
"EDWARD CULLEN—IF YOU HONK ONE MORE TIME—"
Bella's eyes flew open.
She froze.
Her heart skipped, then immediately began racing.
That was Amara.
That was definitely Amara.
And that voice was coming from… upstairs.
Bella slowly turned her head toward the ceiling, as if she could see through floors with enough confusion.
Amara's room faced the forest.
Not the driveway.
Bella's window faced the driveway.
Which meant—
Bella's gaze slid back to the window.
Edward's car sat there.
Silent now.
Very, very still.
"…Did she just yell at the forest?" Bella whispered.
Another shout echoed faintly through the house.
"I SWEAR ON EVERY BAD DECISION BELLA HAS EVER MADE—"
Bella flinched.
"…Hey."
She sat up halfway, hair falling into her face, staring at the window like it might explain itself.
Okay, she thought. So Amara yelled out her window. Which faces the forest.
Edward is in the driveway.
That means she yelled loud enough for the entire house—and probably half the trees—to hear.
Bella's lips parted.
She slowly lay back down.
Pulled the blanket up to her chin.
Turned onto her side.
Nope.
Nope nope nope.
She did not hear that.
She did not hear her cousin threaten Edward Cullen before breakfast.
She definitely did not hear her own name used as a sacred curse.
Bella squeezed her eyes shut.
Maybe I imagined it, she told herself firmly.
People don't yell like that in real life.
The house went quiet again.
Bella opened one eye.
Edward's car was still there.
Not honking.
Not moving.
Just… existing very cautiously.
Bella closed her eye again.
Good, she thought. That means it's over.
She rolled over, facing the wall.
"I should get up," she murmured.
She did not get up.
Instead, Bella Swan—queen of selective awareness—stayed perfectly still, pretending with her entire soul that nothing strange had happened.
She would not think about it.
She would not ask questions.
She would especially not bring it up later.
Because if she did—
Amara might yell again.
And this time?
Bella was pretty sure the forest would answer back.
Hey guys 👋
✨ If you enjoy my story and want to support me, you can leave a tip here 👉 https:// Streamelements.Com / z1ref/tip