Selena’s P. O. V.
We return from the camping trip at night, and I keep tossing and turning on the bed, unable to fall asleep. I feel tightness in my chest and a constant aching because I know I’m doing wrong by pushing Mr Luther away from me.
He’s the first person who has made me feel things that nobody else has before. He touched my heart, but this is so forbidden. That’s why I’ve been trying to distance myself from him before things get more complicated.
But now, I’m missing him so badly it hurts. Only I know how hard I’m struggling to control myself from rushing to his room and falling asleep in his warm arms, listening to his soothing heartbeat, just like we did on the first day of camping.
Oh God, I miss his arms, his rough touch, and his deep, muscular voice. I don’t feel like doing anything or eating either. I’m just longing for him-for his comforting presence, his reassuring smile, and the warmth of being wrapped in his arms.
But I can’t have him because I know we can never be together. I can never disappoint my father. That’s why I have to control myself-it’s better for us before we get too attached to each other.
The entire night, I spend thinking about him, and I’m only able to fall asleep in the morning, but restlessly. Even in my dreams, I long for him, as if my heart burns with immense pain.
In the morning, I wake up to the sound of his soothing voice. “Selena, are you okay?”
Am I dreaming?
It has to be a dream because last night I slept after locking my room door. How could he get in?
And why the hell do I feel like my head is going to explode?
“Selena, wake up.” Hearing his voice again, I open my eyes, and there he is, standing in front of me. The worry is etched in every line of his face.
Why is he so concerned?
“It’s 11 a. m. Are you okay?” As he tells me, my eyes widen in shock.
What? It’s 11 a. m.? I have college. Shit! Why didn’t I wake up? I missed the class.
I need to get up and run to college. I can’t miss more classes.
As I rise from the bed, my head starts spinning and I’m about to fall, but he catches me.
“Selena, sit down. You’re not looking well.” He helps me sit and pours a glass of water for me.
As he hands me the glass, I say, “But I have to go to college,” before drinking the water.
He frowns at me. “You can’t even stand on your feet, Selena. How can you think about going to college? Just lie down. I’m calling the doctor.”
Why Doctor? I’m alright. And I have to go to college.
“There isn’t the need to call the doctor. I’m fine. I just need to go to college.” Ignoring the pain in my head, I get up from the bed.
“Selena, sit down,” he says in such an authoritative tone that I immediately obey him, forgetting about everything.
There’s such care etched into his features that it touches something deep inside me. My parents never cared about my health like this. Half the time, they don’t even know if I’m okay.
But why does he care so much? I wonder, staring at him as he talks to the doctor on the phone, turning his back to me.
***
When the doctor arrives, he examines me and informs me that my blood sugar is low, which is why I feel so weak. He asks if I’ve eaten anything.
“No,” Mr Luther replies before I can answer. “She hasn’t eaten since yesterday morning.”
The doctor gives him a look, then turns to me. “Miss Selena, skipping meals is dangerous. You need to maintain your energy. Eat regularly and hydrate properly.”
I lower my gaze, feeling guilty, and just nod.
Then the doctor prescribes me a mild glucose supplement and some vitamins before packing up to leave.
Mr Luther thanks him and walks him out. When he returns, his expression is filled with concern and frustration.
“Why didn’t you eat, Selena?” he asks, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorframe.
“I didn’t feel like it,” I reply, avoiding his gaze.
He sighs deeply, running a hand through his hair. “Not feeling like it isn’t an excuse, Selena. You have to take care of yourself.”
“I’m sorry,” I mumble.
He walks over to me and crouches down so we’re at eye level. “I don’t want you to apologise. I want you to eat,” he says, placing his hand on my face and looking deep into my eyes.
I shake my head slightly. “I still don’t feel like eating.”
“But you have to eat, Selena.” He instructs me in a firm tone before adding in a soft tone, “It’s about your health.”
“Okay.” I nod.
“I’ll be right back.” He goes out, and I just stare straight, wondering about him.
The way he is showing concern for me is making me emotional. No one has ever cared for me like this before-not my parents, not anyone. The walls I’ve built around my heart feel like they’re starting to crack, and the more I think about him, the more I realise how much I crave the warmth he brings into my life.
I need him like I need air to breathe.
A few minutes later, the maid arrives with a tray filled with various breakfast items-fruit, toast, boiled eggs, pancakes, juice, and even coffee. Mr Luther comes following her.
“What… what is all this?” I stare at him in disbelief as the maid keeps the tray in front of me.
He smiles at me. “You said you didn’t feel like eating, so I had the chef prepare everything. One of these has to appeal to you.”
I stare at him, overwhelmed by his effort. No one has ever gone out of their way like this for me. “You didn’t have to-”
“Yes, I did. I’ll always do whatever it takes to make sure you’re okay,” he interrupts. “Now, what do you want to eat, little miss?”
I look at the tray. I still don’t feel like eating, but seeing his efforts, how can I deny him?
So I point at the boiled eggs, looking at him. “This.”
He nods, picks up the plate, and starts peeling an egg for me. The sight of him doing something like this for me makes my heart melt. Why is he doing this for me? Why does he care?
He feeds me the egg piece by piece, making sure I eat it all. I can’t bring myself to look away from him. The tenderness in his actions feels foreign but comforting, something I’ve craved my whole life.
After finishing the egg, he hands me a glass of orange juice. “Drink this too.”
I take it from him. As I sip, he grabs a tissue and gently wipes a smudge of yolk from the corner of my lips.
I just look at him, feeling like it’s a dream.
He hands me the medicine prescribed by the doctor and watches as I take it before tucking me in the blanket. “Now, rest. That’s an order.”
I nod, too exhausted to argue. With the dose of medicine kicking in, I drift off to sleep again.
When I wake up two hours later, I hear his voice from the balcony.
“Reschedule all my meetings today. Yes, everything. I’ll handle it tomorrow.”
Hearing that, my heart aches in a different way. He’s taken the day off… for me.
No one has ever prioritised me like this.
God! What is he doing? Am I dreaming?