The second our eyes met, a goofy grin spread across his face. I couldn't help myself and returned a smile as we both walked towards each other, closing the rather large gap between us. We were almost chest-to-chest when we finally stopped.

I wasn't sure who he was. I didn't recognize him.

His hair was a golden bronze color and it stuck up in every direction. His face was slim with chiseled cheekbones, a strong jaw line, and a perfectly straight nose. He had thick, sculpted eyebrows. His skin was flawless, silky smooth, the color of a healthy tan, with lips that were slightly full and a smile that was completely white and welcoming. He was tall, standing about a head taller than me, wearing a black v-neck long sleeved shirt, perfectly hugging his muscular arms, with dark pants and shoes to match. His eyes were the very best part of him. They were such a bright green, a shade I had never seen on anyone, surrounded by long, dark eyelashes. They were fixed on me with such intensity; it was as if he were seeing into my soul.

He was stunning.

There was nothing physical about him that was familiar, but his presence was one that I knew. When he was near me, I was at ease. I felt peace and comfort, the kind I often felt when I was truly hurting.

"Hi," I muttered. He was still grinning.

"Hi, Bella," he said happily, like he was finally able to speak to me to the first time in a long time.

I cocked my head to the side. "How do you know my name?"

He opened his mouth to reply, then closed it and frowned. "I can't tell you that," he responded.

"Why not?" I asked, slightly frustrated, but not as much as I was curious.

He sighed. "I . . . I can't tell you that either," he replied with defeat.

"Okay," I easily accepted his non-answers, "what can you tell me?"

A smile crept back to his face and his eyes lit up. "I can tell you my name. If I know yours, it's only fair that you know mine, right?"

I smiled and with a nod replied, "Right."

"My name's Edward," he said, reaching his hand out to me. I took it without hesitation. We didn't shake, but rather just sat there, hand in hand. The small contact caused a warm sensation to rush through my body, and the familiarity of his touch made me complacent. I realized I was staring and lingering for too long, so I slowly slipped my hand out of his, using it to tuck my hair behind my ear, and cleared my throat. Though, he didn't seem to mind.

"It's nice to meet you, Edward. Or . . ." I sighed through my nose as I scrutinized him. "God, I just feel like I've already met you. I mean, you somehow know who I am, and that confuses me, but what I really don't understand is how I know you." I stopped my rambling, wondering if I was even making sense. I looked at him expectantly.

He smirked. "Yes, I know who you are. I'm unable to give you any real, straight answers right now," he explained, "But I can tell you that we've met before. You've dreamed of me many times, you just don't remember. Or remember that well, anyway."

What? I was dreaming? He must have seen the disappointment in my face because he reached out and took my hand. I glanced down at our intertwining fingers.

This felt more real to me than anything.

"I haven't been able to remember a dream for a while now. After I lost my dad to cancer two years ago, I didn't think I dreamt any, let alone slept," I said sadly.

"I'm so sorry," he said, genuinely concerned.

"It's okay." I smiled weakly, waved it way, and continued. "You make me feel better. I'm oddly comfortable around you," I told him with complete honesty, bringing my attention back to his face. "It's like I can tell you anything and talk to you about anything. I don't usually open up to people easily. But if I've met you in my dreams several times before, you're clearly not just anyone."

He beamed, and then quietly laughed to himself.

"What?" I was a bit taken aback. What was he laughing at? Me?

He must have read my mind. "I'm not laughing at you," he quickly assured me. "It was just . . . a thought."

"And, let me guess, you can't tell me what that thought is," I assumed, half jokingly. His eyes were apologetic.

"I could," he alleged, "But then I wouldn't be able to stop myself from spilling out everything and then I'd be breaking the rules."

Rules? What rules?

"So these "rules"," I mused, "they're pretty serious?"

He chuckled. "I've never actually thought much of them. We never question anything; we do as we're told. I think it's to keep things in order. It's easier," he paused, "For some." I nodded, pretending to understand, when in actuality I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.

I had so many questions. Who was apart of the "we"? Why did I dream of him? How many times? Did we go through this every time I did? Why did I feel this way about him?

He took my other hand, pulling me out of my reverie, and grasped them in both of his.

"Bella, I want to tell you everything, but I'm not sure what would happen if I did," he explained passionately. "I don't know if this situation has even occurred before, but I promise, I'll figure it out as soon as I possibly can because I can't do this anymore." I looked at him, mystified.

He smiled wickedly. "But for now, I think I can get away with breaking one rule." His right hand let go of mine and swept my long hair away from my neck, lightly resting there. He gently pulled me towards him and when our foreheads met, he closed his eyes. I mimicked him, and in that moment, we were one, linked together by some extraordinary, unearthly bond. I could feel his breath on my face getting closer, hotter.

"Or two," he whispered, and sweetly pressed his lips onto mine.

I opened my eyes, adjusting to the bright light shining through my window, and looked around at my surroundings, slightly disoriented. I rubbed my eyes and it soon registered that I was in my bedroom. "Oh!" I quickly shot up to a sitting position, my head spinning. My fingers automatically flew to my mouth and I could feel the warm, tingly sensation his lips had left. Edward's lips.

I remembered everything.