A/N: I have been rewriting my previous story Painting With Oils and Speaking with Signs, and this is the product. I won't take down the other story because the two are so different, and it pisses me off when I can't find a story a read a long time ago.

We'll see where this goes.

Chapter 1

I stared off into the distance, clicking my pen idly against my notepad. The medical school admissions information shined up at me from the screen of my laptop, exuding academic pomp. I had been working towards this moment for so long, busting my ass and enduring all-nighters. Through gritted teeth I made it here - to the application processes - with top MCAT scores, strong research experience, and glowing recommendations. All of my efforts up until this point had been for medical school, with nothing deterring me or making me stumble. And yet as I sat at that cafe table on a late-August evening with my peers milling about the Square, there was nothing else on my mind at that moment except for: What the fuck am I doing?

I dropped the pen, and groaned as I put my head into my palm. Thoughts of quitting now danced through my head. I could move back to Australia and become a bum, catching waves and not giving a fuck.

Leaning back, I pushed those thoughts away. There was no question that I would go to medical school. I had my family's name to uphold; the natural career path for a firstborn Cullen son was to go into the medical field. There was no other option.

Reaching up to my hair, I pulled out the elastic that held up my infuriating copper mess. I tilted my head back and let it fall to my shoulders. I viewed my hair as an inconvenience, but at the same time clung to this small rebellious act of having it be as long as it was. It pissed my father off, the fact that I didn't have a doctor-esque haircut. But hey, small victories, right?

I sat up in my chair, straightened my glasses, and focused on the screen again. These applications weren't going to fill themselves out. Just as I started to takes notes on the requirements, a loud clang caught my attention. My eyes made saccades across the Square. Most people had emptied out by now, off to a Friday night party. The gas lamp posts cast light across the shadows, causing the Square to appear even more gothic than it already was.

That's when I saw her.

A tiny figure, obscured by a mass of brown and red curls, struggling with a large piece of metal in front of a frozen yogurt store across the way. I couldn't see her face as she was turned away from me, but my heart beat increased. What was she doing?

I pushed my chair back and started to make my way over to help her. I reached up and pulled my hair up into a bun. The girl was squatting down, pulling something out of her bag. Her long hair curled around her on the ground. As I neared, she didn't seem to notice me, just mumbling under her breath.

She's fuckin' tiny, I thought to myself. Her small hands were delicate, hardly bigger than my palm. What the hell is she doing pulling this giant ass piece of metal?

"Do you need a hand? That looks too heavy for you," I said without thinking just as she stood up and pulled her hair over her shoulder. My steps faltered.

"Excuse me?" She clipped, turning towards me. Her brown eyes were fierce, flashing fire. Her brows furrowed, obviously offended. Even though an inner fire was brewing inside of this small creature, I couldn't see past the ethereal creature in front of me. Her pale skin glimmered in the gaslight, dark freckles splattered across her nose and delicate cheekbones. Full lips graced her face, the color of two rose petals. I couldn't look away. I just started dumbly, enchanted by this girl who looked like she was born out of the pools of Aphrodite's garden. She was perfect.

She was also beyond pissed off.

"Hey, ass wipe!" She barked, "The fuck do you want?"

The moment was shattered. I took a step back, taken off guard by her hostility. "I-I saw you struggling-"

She took a step towards me, seething. "So you thought you'd be a big, strong man and come help me? Thanks, but I'm fine." She turned away, tying her mane up with an elastic on top of her head. She pulled on two black, industrial gloves. "Drop the gimmick, I know a fucking tool when I see one."

That pissed me off. "What the hell is your problem?" I asked incredulously, "You dropped a giant ass piece of metal! I was just trying to help, you don't have to be a bitch."
She froze. Turning around slowly, she glared up at me. Before I could blink, the tiny person in front of me, whose head didn't even reach my shoulder, swung out her hand and smacked me across the face.

"Fuck you, dick," She spit out before grabbing the metal sheet and disappearing down the street. I stood there, eyes wide, and stunned.

What the hell had just happened?