A year after losing her older sister in a tragic accident, Charlie's Mom marries the father of the most popular boys in school. Still grieving, Charlie struggles to accept her new family and gets involved with her stepbrothers worst enemy, the capta...
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"It's been too long—" a voice drifted through the haze, "—why hasn't she woken up yet?"
Their voice was fleeting, and I tried to cling to it—but it slipped away, overtaken by a rhythmic beeping that echoed in the background, taunting me like background music I couldn't shut off.
At first, I thought it was my alarm clock, but as the fog in my head began to lift, I realized the sound was different—sharper, more clinical.
When my eyelids finally fluttered open, I was met with stark white—cold, sterile, almost blinding. No warmth, no softness—just glaring brightness.
As my eyes adjusted, I slowly turned my head and saw the source of the noise: a machine beside me, tracking my heartbeat. I was in a hospital.
"You're awake." Someone said, their voice filled with relief.
My eyes darted toward the voice and landed on my mother. She was standing by the window, where sunlight poured in, highlighting how tired she looked.
I'd seen her like this before—back when she was buried in a difficult case at work. She always stared out the window when she was anxious, as if the view might somehow bring her peace. But when she turned to look at me now, I doubted it had helped.
"God, Charlotte. You know how to scare the hell out of me," she said, crossing the room to my side.
My mom pulled me into a hug, wrapping her arms around me with quiet desperation. I let her hold me, slowly returning the embrace, even though my mind was still clouded and unsure of what had happened.
When she pulled away, she kept one hand on my shoulder and gently cupped my cheek with the other.
"I'm so glad you're okay." She said, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.
I gave her a faint smile.
"I'm fine." I replied, ignoring the dull ache in my body.
"Shame," a familiar voice chimed in, pulling my attention away from her. "I was hoping I could have your room—it's got a better view than mine."
Harry stepped forward, a teasing smile playing on his lips as he pushed himself off the wall he'd been leaning against and came to stand beside me.
I couldn't help but smile back as our eyes met. There was warmth in his hazel gaze, relief softening the worry that had etched shadows beneath his eyes.
I rolled my eyes at his comment and let out a scoff. If Mom weren't here, I might've reminded him that at least his room still had the vines.
"You know you can hug me, right? It's not going to degrade your so-called masculinity." I teased, flashing Harry a cheeky smile.
Harry rolled his eyes, smirking. "In your dreams." He shot back,.
Yet, Harry reached out —not to hug me, but to ruffle my hair instead.
