Amara was sleeping the kind of sleep that poets wrote about — warm, peaceful, and entirely undeserving of interruption. Her blanket had wrapped itself around her like a devoted pet, and her pillow was the perfect level of soft. If she could, she'd have signed a lease to stay in that bed forever.
Then came the voice.
"Amara! Wake up!"
It was Bella. Shouting.
For a moment, Amara thought she was dreaming. Bella Swan — the quiet, polite, painfully introverted girl from her memories — could not possibly be shouting like a morning alarm that had just discovered caffeine.
"Amara! You're going to make us late!"
Nope. Definitely real.
Amara groaned into her pillow and muttered, "In the movies, you were quiet. You read books. You brooded. You didn't yell at dawn like a possessed rooster."
Maybe, she thought sleepily, if she ignored Bella long enough, she'd give up and go away. That was the plan. The only plan.
But the universe, or rather, Bella Swan, had other ideas.
The next thing Amara heard was footsteps. Fast, determined ones. Then—knock knock knock!
"Amara, wake up!" Bella's voice carried the desperation of a girl who had inherited both a sense of punctuality and a complete lack of patience. "Mike and the others will be here soon!"
Amara blinked, groaned, and pulled herself out of bed with the grace of a sleepy cat who'd been denied a nap. Her hair looked like a bird's nest that had gone through a wind tunnel. She shuffled to the door, cracked it open, and squinted blearily at Bella.
"Late for what?" she asked, voice still wrapped in sleep.
Bella stood there in her flannel shirt, holding a hairbrush like it was a weapon against laziness. Her expression said she had been up for at least an hour and was suffering because of it. "Late for Mike and the others — they're picking us up! You forgot? We're going to La Push!"
Amara stared blankly for a second. Then it clicked. "Right… La Push. The beach."
Bella gave her a teasing grin, eyes twinkling. "What's wrong? Too busy dreaming about Lucien to remember real life?"
Amara blinked once, slowly. "Wow. You've developed confidence since yesterday."
And with that, she closed the door on Bella's face.
From behind it came Bella's indignant yell. "Rude!"
Amara smirked to herself and yawned, stretching like she'd just survived a war. "She's lucky I like her," she mumbled before wandering over to her window. She opened the curtains — and immediately regretted it.
Forks was as Forks as ever: gray, drizzly, and looking like the sky had forgotten what joy was. The mist clung to the trees like gossip, and the streets glistened with fresh rain.
She stared out and muttered under her breath, "Beach day. In Forks. Brilliant idea. Let's go catch hypothermia for fun."
Still, she smiled faintly. The idea of going to La Push — seeing the waves crash and the cliffs breathe out mist — had a certain charm. Even if it came with sand in her boots and the risk of frostbite.
Amara turned toward her small closet and began the sacred morning ritual: picking the day's outfit.
She surveyed her options like a general examining battle plans. "Okay," she muttered. "Cold, windy, possibly rain, and the chance of running into people who think flip-flops are acceptable beachwear."
After a minute of serious deliberation, she settled on a dark green knit top, black fitted pants, and a soft black jacket that looked warm enough to survive a Forks summer — which was, of course, indistinguishable from winter anywhere else. She added a pair of sturdy black shoes that said I'm practical but stylish, and brushed her long hair until it fell in neat, soft waves.
By the time she looked in the mirror, she felt human again. "Not bad," she said to her reflection. "Beach chic, Forks edition."
She brushed her teeth, washed her face, and dabbed on a hint of lip balm — because some days, self-care meant pretending to be put together even when you weren't.
When she headed downstairs, the comforting smell of coffee and toast greeted her. Charlie sat at the kitchen table with his eternal companion — a mug of coffee that probably had more authority than half the police force. Bella was already there, wrapped in her layered hoodies like she was preparing for a snowstorm instead of a beach day.
"Morning," Amara greeted, sliding into the kitchen with a yawn.
Charlie looked up with a grin. "You girls off to freeze yourselves for fun?"
"It's called fresh air, Dad," Bella said, with the kind of dramatic sigh that belonged in a Jane Austen adaptation.
Amara grabbed a granola bar and raised an eyebrow. "Fresh hypothermia, more like. Maybe frostbite too, if we're lucky."
Charlie chuckled. "Just don't drown or join any cults. I'm too tired for missing person reports."
Amara nodded solemnly. "No cults. Maybe just a light shivering competition."
Bella rolled her eyes, pulling on her gloves. "You're both hilarious."
"I know," Amara replied, biting into her granola bar. "It's one of my many burdens."
Charlie smirked over his coffee. "You two remind me of your mom and aunt when they were teenagers. Always bickering, always late."
"Always fashionable though," Amara said, smoothing her jacket proudly.
Bella gave her a look that said you spent more time on your outfit than I've spent on my GPA.
"Ready?" Bella asked, grabbing her bag.
"As I'll ever be," Amara replied, looping her scarf around her neck with exaggerated flair.
They stepped out onto the porch together. The air was crisp, damp, and smelled faintly of pine and earth — that quiet, living scent that Forks always carried. Amara pulled her jacket tighter, clutching her collar like a woman braving the tundra.
"Beautiful weather for pneumonia," she muttered.
Bella laughed softly. "You'll live."
"I might not forgive you though," Amara said dramatically, and Bella nudged her shoulder in reply.
A few minutes later, the sound of an old van pulling up broke the morning calm. Mike Newton's voice carried across the driveway like an overexcited golden retriever. "Let's go, beach crew!"
The van door slid open to reveal Jessica and Angela already giggling inside. Bella waved and hurried over while Amara followed, trying not to slip on the damp gravel.
Mike beamed when he saw them. "About time! We thought we'd have to come up there and drag you two out."
Bella smiled awkwardly, sliding into the front seat, while Amara climbed into the back with Angela and Jessica. She tucked herself under a blanket someone had brought, holding a coffee cup like a lifeline.
"Beach day!" Mike declared dramatically, revving the van like it was a sports car.
"More like pneumonia party," Amara said under her breath.
Jessica laughed. "You're hilarious, Amara."
"I try. It's either that or cry about the temperature."
Angela smiled kindly. "You look so cozy though. That jacket's amazing."
"Style is survival," Amara replied seriously. "If I'm going to freeze, I'll at least do it fashionably."
Bella, for once, looked relaxed — her usual frown softening as she sipped from her thermos and listened to the chatter. The air in the van was warm and filled with the kind of laughter that made time slow down.
As the trees passed by, Amara leaned her head against the window, watching mist weave between the pines. The forest looked endless, like a living painting.
Forks might not have sun, but it had its own kind of beauty — quiet, sleepy, and real.
And for the first time since she'd arrived, Amara felt something gentle bloom in her chest.
A quiet kind of contentment, the kind that didn't need sunshine to exist.
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