Meant To Be Yours

Elva’s POV

My throat felt dry, so I got up from the bed and walked out of my room with the novel in hand. I wanted to get a glass of water from the kitchen. I was reading while walking.

I didn’t even notice there was a stool in front of me. I tripped and fell loudly to the floor. I grabbed the edge of the table to steady myself, but the table toppled over and fell on me with a loud crash. The flower vase hit my head. I screamed in pain.

I pushed the table off me and felt a sharp object pierce my ankle. I cried out when I saw the deep cut, blood dripping everywhere. And the worst part—the novel was torn.

His favourite novel.

I should have left it in my room. I was too engrossed in it. That was why I didn’t see the stool. And now, I had torn his novel.

He had warned me not to tear it.

He was definitely going to be pissed. Arrrgh.

I heard footsteps and quickly hid the novel behind me. The door opened, and Mig rushed in.

My heart pounded as he walked toward me.

“OMG, you’re bleeding! What happened?” he asked worriedly, crouching in front of me.

“I wanted to get a glass of water. I didn’t see the stool and tripped… sorry for worrying you. You can go back to what you were doing. I’m okay,” I said.

Oh God… his novel, I thought in fear.

“No, you’re not okay. Your bandage is soaked with blood, and your ankle has a deep cut. I have to call Fleur,” he said, standing to reach the telephone on the shelf.

“No, don’t call her. I’m fine. She might be busy,” I said, but he ignored me and dialed.

“Hey, Fleur… Elva is badly hurt… okay, be quick. I’ll take her to her room,” he said, then hung up and came back to me.

“Sorry. I know the pain must be unbearable,” he said, stretching his hand toward me. But I couldn’t take it—I was still hiding the torn novel behind me.

“Is your hand hurting too?” he asked, and I quickly nodded.

“Oh… sorry. Let me see it,” he said, reaching again. I shook my head, panic rising.

He sighed. “Okay. Let me carry you to your room then.”

My eyes widened. If he got close enough to lift me, he would definitely see the torn novel.

“No!” I blurted out. I raised my hand to stop him—forgetting that was the hand holding the novel. It slipped out and fell to the floor.

My body went numb.

He stared at it. His eyes widened in surprise. Then he buried his face in his palms, running his hands through his hair.

He was pissed.

“I’m sorry,” I said immediately. “I promise to get another copy. Please, I’m so sorry. It wasn’t intentional. It tore when I tripped. I’m sorry.”

I wished he would just look at me.

He did—and he smiled.

What?

He smiled.

He wasn’t angry.

He chuckled. “Was that why you didn’t want to take my hand?”

“Yes,” I said, shocked at how calm he was. I had torn his novel—he should be mad.

“Of course I’m not pissed at you. It was an accident. I can always buy another one. Don’t feel bad,” he said.

“Thanks, Mig,” I whispered.

“So can you take my hand now?” he asked, stretching it toward me.

I nodded and took it. He pulled me up.

I yelped. I had sprained my ankle.

“Sorry, Elva,” he said gently.

He wrapped his arm around my shoulder to support me. Each step sent sharp pain shooting through my ankle, and I panted.

Suddenly, Mig lifted me into his arms.

I almost gasped.

He carried me like I weighed nothing. He didn’t even strain. He actually smiled.

“I thought it would be easier and faster this way,” he said with a grin.

I smiled too. I didn’t know how I ended up resting my head against his chest, closing my eyes.

His broad chest was more comfortable than a pillow. I felt warm and safe in his arms. My pain disappeared.

Before I knew it, he’d reached my door. He kicked it open and carried me inside.

Oh no… I don’t want him to put me down. I want to stay like this forever, I thought silently.

But he gently lowered me onto the bed. The moment he let go, the warmth faded and the pain returned. He sat beside me and held my hand. It felt good—but not as good as being in his arms.

Still, it was something.

The door opened, and Fleur rushed in.

“What happened?” she asked, dropping her shoulder bag on the bed.

“She tripped over the stool and fell,” Mig explained.

“Ohh. Sorry, Elva,” Fleur said.

“Thanks, Fleur.”

“Mig, please get me the first-aid box from my room. I need to change this soaked bandage and clean her ankle,” she said. Mig left immediately.

“Sorry for making you worry and interrupting your work,” I said.

“No, it’s okay,” she replied.

Mig returned with the first-aid box. Fleur opened it, wore her gloves, removed the soaked bandage, and placed it in a disposable bag. She cleaned the blood on my head and ankle with cotton wool before applying antiseptic. I winced at the stinging pain.

She wrapped clean bandage around my head, then placed cotton wool on my ankle and covered it with a bandage.

“You won’t be able to walk properly for a few days,” she said. She disposed of the stained items, removed her gloves, and took out a pack of medication. She poured some brightly coloured pills into a small saucer.

“Mig, please get a glass of water,” she said. Mig stepped out and returned with it.

Fleur handed the pills to me with the water.

“They’ll make you sleep and help with the pain,” she said.

I took the pills and swallowed them with water.

Fleur adjusted my pillow, making sure I was comfortable.

“Thanks,” I murmured.

Within minutes, I felt sleepy. The medication worked fast.

“Mig, let’s let her sleep. I have some things to discuss with you.”

That was the last thing I heard before falling into a deep slumber.

TBC…