CHAPTER 8 – First Contact

January 2005 – Forks High School

Forks High School looked like it had been forgotten by time — a cluster of squat, weather-worn buildings with narrow halls and wide windows that let in more gloom than light.

The rain had come early that morning, soft and persistent. Kira watched it from beneath her hoodie as she stepped out of her aunt's secondhand Jeep, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder.

It was her first day. Again.

The main lot was already dotted with modest trucks and beaten sedans. But what caught her eye—what stopped her cold—was the sleek, matte-black silhouette parked near the edge like it didn't belong to this dimension.

A Lamborghini Murciélago. Low to the ground. Sinister in posture. The kind of car you read about in glossy magazines, not… see in Forks.

Her eyes narrowed. There was only one person that could belong to.

Garage boy.

Ren Bai.

Kira lingered for a few seconds longer, standing under the slanted roof of the main office building, eyes locked on the car. Its surface gleamed even under the gray sky, water beads sliding off like it rejected the rain itself.

And then—there he was.

He stepped out of the building, wearing a black jacket over a simple white shirt, his dark jeans clean, precise. His gait was even, neither hurried nor lazy. He didn't look around. Didn't acknowledge anyone.

But she saw him.

And he saw her.

Their eyes met across the parking lot—briefly. Just a flicker of recognition. Like two notes in harmony brushing past each other before the song moved on.

He didn't react. Just turned toward the car, climbed in, and drove off to park at the rear, near the staff lot.

Kira released a breath she didn't know she'd been holding and rolled her eyes.

Of course he'd ignore me. Mysterious types always do.Still… she smiled to herself.

The school itself was ordinary: humming fluorescents, buzzing lockers, the low roar of teenage disinterest. She drifted through her morning classes, observing, mapping the social terrain — a habit that came naturally after so many moves.

By lunch, she'd already labeled the key groups: the loud kids, the shy ones, the athletes, the wannabe punks, and the ones who thought they were wolves in sheep's clothing.

Then there were the Cullens.

She'd heard the whispers before she even sat down. Beautiful. Pale. Rich. Unreachable. A family of siblings that didn't act like siblings, with eyes too sharp and skin too smooth. People didn't dislike them—they were just… unsettled by them.

Kira understood that feeling. There was something off about their presence.

And she wasn't the only one who noticed.

The tension built slowly over the next two days.

She saw Ren in passing. In the halls. Near the vending machines. Once at the library. He always moved like he didn't care who was watching, but never quite relaxed either. Like he was expecting the world to ask something from him.

They brushed shoulders once by accident—his sleeve against her arm. Just fabric. But she felt something. A buzz in her spine. A flicker of static. He didn't say anything, didn't flinch, just kept walking.

It annoyed her.

Say something, dammit, she thought. Blink. Nod. Grunt, even.

But he was silence wrapped in steel.

And that only made her more curious.

It was in Biology that fate finally cornered them.

The teacher, Mr. Halpern, was an older man with a belly full of caffeine and a voice that always sounded two seconds from a nap.

"Long-term partner project," he droned, scribbling some illegible title across the whiteboard. "You'll need to work together in and out of class. Don't make me regret trusting you."

Kira groaned internally. Group projects were the worst—either you carried dead weight, or they slowed you down.

Then she heard it.

"Yue, Kira… Bai, Ren."

She blinked.

Looked up.

And there he was, across the room, lifting his eyes slowly toward hers.

Their gazes held for a second. No surprise. No visible reaction.

Just recognition.

Mr. Halpern was already calling out other names, so she stood up, grabbed her folder, and slid into the empty seat beside him at the back.

He was still quiet.

She waited a beat. Then leaned slightly closer.

"Do you always glare at people like that, or am I just special?"

His eyes shifted toward her, a slight lift of his brow. "I wasn't glaring."

"Sure," she said, grinning. "Your face just comes pre-installed that way?"

He didn't respond right away. Then: "You were on my property."

She blinked, startled. "What—wait. That was you? The mansion in the forest?"

He nodded once, turning back to the worksheet in front of him.

She narrowed her eyes. "So you did see me."

"I did."

"And you didn't say anything?"

Ren glanced sideways again. "You didn't either."

Kira opened her mouth, then closed it. Fair.

For a moment, the silence stretched. Not tense. Not awkward. Just… quiet.

He worked steadily, hands moving with calm precision as he filled out the project proposal sheet. His handwriting was neat. Straight. Practiced.

She watched him.

Noticed the way he tapped the pen once before each answer. The way his fingers flexed, subtly. Like he was measuring something invisible.

She leaned back in her chair. "You like science?"

He hesitated. Then nodded. "It makes sense."

"Most things don't?"

His jaw shifted slightly, but he didn't answer.

Kira looked at him for a long second. He was a fortress — calm walls, no windows. But something rippled behind them.

She didn't press. She knew how to wait.

The bell rang.

Ren stood first, gathering his things swiftly.

Before he turned to leave, he glanced at her once — the barest hint of something in his eyes.

Not a smile. Not even kindness.

Just a flicker of attention.

Then he walked out.

That night, Ren sat alone in his garage.

The Murciélago rested in the center, its curves catching the dim light. But he wasn't working. Not tonight.

He sat on the metal stool, fingers interlaced, staring at the floor.

His mind was quiet.

Too quiet.

It had started the moment their hands touched the same piece of paper.

A spark — not of heat or electricity, but pressure. As if something deep in his bones had stirred in her presence.

It wasn't painful. But it wasn't gentle either.

He closed his eyes.

Who is she…?

Not just another student. Not just another face.

There was something off about her. Or rather… too aligned. Like she moved through the same currents he had only begun to feel humming beneath this quiet town.

The metal on the workbench beside him shivered faintly. A few screws rattled.

Ren's eyes opened slowly.

He exhaled.

Then whispered the truth only the garage walls could hear:

"She's not normal."

And neither am I.