Edward's POV:

I sighed, frustrated. Beside me, Alice grumbled, and behind me, against the wall, Esme chuckled softly.

"This is the sixth time you've stopped playing, and we only started five minutes ago!" This came from Alice, of course, who now seemed to be competing with Emmett for the least-amount-of-patience-award.

"Let him think, dear," my mother, coming to stand right behind me on the piano bench, defended me. "He hasn't composed in such a long time; he just needs to get back into it. Let him be."

I sighed. Coming up with a new composition was hard enough without these two distracting me from my focus. Although I love my family more than anything, sometimes, they drove me a little nuts.

I had originally thought of the tune yesterday, but I hadn't had the bravery to step up and try it out. It sounded nice, as it turns out, but I couldn't think of a good bridge. This was an important song, though I didn't know why, and every piece of it needed to be perfect.

"Maybe if you had an inspiration?" suggested Esme. I knew she wanted to help, but she wanted to find out what had possessed me to come back to my favorite instrument after so long just as much.

I didn't answer her, not because I didn't have an answer, but because I did, and it was confusing. I didn't understand it myself. I did have an inspiration. A folded up piece of paper sitting in a book rack in World Cultures class; a certain brunette that had burnt out my throat, sent me running for the hills, and intrigued me beyond belief with her outpourings of the other day.

I had not known what to make of that note, so I didn't try to edit my thoughts. I had let my hand flow freely across the paper, writing exactly what my mind had come up with.

She hadn't written back. I read and reread everything I had written on that paper –I was relieved that it had not been too bad –and I could not find anything she might have taken offence to. Of course, I didn't really know her. I knew her story, I knew what she had told me, but I didn't know how she felt about everything. I didn't know what face she had made when her mother had told her the plan –I had realized that her facial expressions gave away much of her thoughts.

And I shouldn't know. I shouldn't care. But I did, and that scared me. That was why I was having trouble finishing up my song. Because I didn't know her feelings. I had to find that out before I could finish the song.

"It just came to me in class yesterday." It was the first time I had lied to my family. It's not like I had secrets. Besides, they couldn't keep anything from me, so why should I do that to them? But I couldn't tell anyone about Bella, so I would just have to lie.

The two women beside me shared look, clearly not believing me, in their actions or thoughts. I didn't say anything.

After another hour of trying –and failing –to fix the bridge, I got up from my piano bench, and went for a run. That was always a great pleasure, running. It took me away from everything and gave me absolute peace.

I neared Seattle, slowed down, and stopped at a small meadow in the woods on my way back. It was my favorite place to think, or in this case, not think. Nobody else knew of it, so it was all mine, and I loved it. This time, though, it didn't hold my attention for very long. For some reason, I couldn't place it, my happy place was incomplete. It displeased me.

I only stayed there for another hour and then left for home. I didn't want to think about what was missing. It was perfect, it shouldn't be empty.

When I got back to my home, Carlisle was at work, Esme was totally focused on her designs, Alice and Rosalie were trying to find something to wear for school, and my brothers were wrestling. As always. It was the normal routine of our entire household. So why did it seem different?

As usual, I drove my siblings to school, each of us engrossed in our own thoughts, although, I didn't know why, I couldn't concentrate on anything. Usually, I would think about a new album coming out, or a model of some kind of car, but today I couldn't think about any of that. I only saw one thing, and it scared the hell out of me. When did I become so obsessed over a little note?

It wasn't me, and there was no reason for it, but, one thing's for sure, I needed her to respond; to open up and tell me that I hadn't hurt her feelings, because, for some reason, I couldn't stand the thought of hurting.

It was a physical pain, worse than any scent.