When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was a book cover.
A worn-out, slightly creased book with a golden title:
"Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban."
I blinked.
Then blinked again.
Then sat up so fast I nearly headbutted the wall behind me.
"Wait—wha—why is this—?"
My brain scrambled like eggs.
Last night I was in the library. I was reading. I was on the couch. And then… blackout.
I quickly scanned my surroundings.
Blankets tucked neatly around me.
A soft pillow under my head.
Curtains drawn halfway.
Wait—was that a glass of water on my side table?
My eyes narrowed.
"What in the Hogwarts is happening here?"
Did I teleport?
Did I pass out mid-page?
Did a librarian ghost carry me upstairs?
And then a horrifying realization struck me like a bolt of lightning—
"Was it Adam?"
I jumped out of bed, staring at the book like it had personally betrayed me.
"Nope. Nope nope nope," I muttered. "No way he tucked me in like some romantic anime prince. That's—ew. That's illegal. He probably just dragged me by the foot like a sack of potatoes."
Just then, the door creaked open.
And of course, like a perfectly timed horror film—
There. He. Was.
Adam.
Wearing an oversized grey t-shirt and sweatpants. Holding a bowl of cereal.
Looking far too casual for someone who might've princess-carried me like a fever dream.
He raised an eyebrow. "You're alive. Was beginning to wonder if Harry Potter murdered you in your sleep."
I narrowed my eyes. "Did you...bring me here?"
He took a long spoonful of cereal. "No. I called the House Elves. They carried you in singing lullabies."
"Adam."
"Yes, I carried your dramatic, chocolate-smudged corpse back to your room."
I gasped. "Corpse?? Excuse me, I was in a gentle literary slumber."
"You were drooling."
"I was not!"
He smirked. "Left a tiny pond on the couch. I considered naming it after you."
I grabbed a pillow and chucked it at him.
He dodged effortlessly, like he trained with ninjas. "Temper, temper. You're welcome, by the way."
I crossed my arms. "I would've woken up just fine on the couch."
"You mean after sleeping like you were casting spells in your dreams? You kicked the air, mumbled about dragons, and called me 'Snape-faced scum.'"
"…Okay that one tracks."
Adam plopped onto the armchair across my bed. "So. Miss Never-Read-A-Book-Without-Moral-Lessons… How was your first time entering a fantasy world?"
I paused.
My fingers ran along the book cover beside me.
How do I even explain what it felt like?
I took a breath. "It felt like… everything I never got to have."
His teasing face faltered for a second.
I continued, softer now, "My mom never let me read stories. Said they were a waste of time. So last night—just getting to laugh and imagine and not be scolded for it—it felt like… like I was stealing joy from a world that didn't want me to have it."
Adam was silent.
Then he picked up a cookie from the table and threw it at me.
It hit my forehead.
"Ow!"
"Too much emotional monologue. Thought you were going to start singing."
"Ugh, you jerk!"
He chuckled, getting up. "Well, at least you admit I'm a jerk now. It's progress."
As he walked toward the door, I called out, "Hey!"
He turned.
I squinted at him. "Did you—um—carry me like bridal style or whatever?"
He blinked.
And then he smirked. That annoying, heart-melting, slow-motion smirk.
"I mean… technically."
My face caught fire.
I turned away dramatically. "I hate you."
"No you don't."
"Yes I do."
"I can still see the blush."
I threw another pillow.
He shut the door laughing.
---
Later that day…
I wandered into the hallway looking for the kitchen (I was, not shockingly, hungry again), when I found him leaning against the kitchen counter, eating from a packet of chips like he owned the entire universe.
"Are you stalking me?" I asked, folding my arms.
He gave me a sideways look. "You literally walked into my kitchen."
"Well, your kitchen smells weird."
"It's air-freshener. Something you clearly don't recognize."
We bickered like that for a while—throwing insults like snowballs, his voice lazy and amused, mine sharp and defensive.
And then…
I bent to grab a biscuit from the lower shelf—and he bent down at the same time to pick up something he dropped.
Our heads bumped.
I froze.
He looked up.
We were suddenly way too close.
Like, barely-an-inch close.
My breath hitched.
His face was so near. His eyes soft, not smirking, not joking. Just looking.
I could smell the faint hint of his shampoo—something citrusy and annoying and way too attractive for its own good.
My cheeks went up in flames.
I jerked back.
Too fast.
Knocked over a cup.
It clattered to the floor, thankfully unbroken, but he was already laughing.
"Oh wow. Is this the part where you faint because I got too close?"
I spun around. "No! My foot slipped!"
"I didn't even touch you, Gremlin. You blushed from air."
"I HAVE A MEDICAL CONDITION!" I yelled.
He wheezed.
I stormed out.
My ears burned for hours.
---
But that night… as I sat in bed, Harry Potter in one hand, leftover chips in the other…
I smiled to myself.
Because maybe this wasn't just a weird new chapter in my life.
Maybe it was the start of a whole new book.
---
Chapter: Wet Hair, Warm Blushes
The pool shimmered like it was mocking me. Blue. Calm. Evil.
I stood at the edge, arms crossed, while Adam — shirtless and grinning like a summer storm — did lazy laps like he owned the water and the world.
"You're staring," he said without even looking at me.
"I'm judging."
"Same thing."
I rolled my eyes. "You think just because you have abs, you can drag me into your nonsense?"
He popped up, water dripping from his hair, smirking. "I wasn't going to drag you."
I narrowed my eyes.
He grinned wider.
Then in one smooth move, he climbed out and lunged at me.
"NO—ADAM—DON'T—"
Too late.
My scream sliced the air before I hit the water, arms flailing, clothes and dignity both soaked.
I surfaced with a gasp, spitting water. "I. WILL. DESTROY. YOU."
He laughed, full and deep. "You already look destroyed."
I splashed him. He splashed back. It became a war. Water flying, insults flying louder.
But... I was laughing.
For real.
Like actually laughing.
Not fake smile, polite chuckle. But big, wet, embarrassing laughs I didn't even know my chest had room for.
And it felt good.
Really, stupidly, dangerously good.
After a while, we climbed out, wrapped in oversized towels, both panting.
Then he casually said, "Truth or dare?"
I blinked. "What?"
"Come on. Pool rule. You don't leave without a truth or dare."
I raised a brow. "You just made that up."
He shrugged. "So?"
I rolled my eyes, drying my hair. "Fine. Truth."
He leaned in, cocky. "Have you ever liked me even a little?"
I choked on nothing. "What? No. Ew. Yuck."
He smiled. "That was a strong reaction. Suspicious."
"Shut up."
"Admit it, I'm at least 5% likable."
"Minus 3%."
"Rude."
"My truth turn," I said quickly, pointing at him. "Why do you act like a jerk when sometimes you're… I don't know… weirdly nice?"
He went silent for a second. Then mumbled, "I'm not used to people sticking around when I'm not a jerk."
I blinked. That was… not what I expected.
But I didn't say anything. Just wrapped my towel tighter.
It was getting cold, but something about that sentence felt warm. Or maybe I was just tired.
He cleared his throat. "Okay, last round. Dare."
I smirked. "I dare you to not flirt with me for one whole day."
He stared. "Define flirt."
"Staring like a lovesick cat. Calling me princess. Teasing me in that voice."
He leaned closer. "This voice?"
My heart stuttered.
Stupid voice.
"Stop," I muttered, pushing his face away. "That's illegal."
He laughed. "Fine. I accept the dare."
He stood and offered his hand. "Let's go."
I took it, reluctantly. Electricity. Actual, fizzy, skin-level electricity. What the hell.
As we walked inside, towels trailing, I tried to act normal. Chill. Not like I was dying inside.
I paused by a mirror.
Wet hair. Smudged mascara. Red cheeks.
Why did I feel... pretty?
---
Later that night...
After a late dinner (where I accidentally ate five slices of garlic bread and Adam made fun of me until I threatened to stuff a fork in his ear), I wandered through the huge hallways of his house and ended up in the library.
The room smelled like old books and stories I was never allowed to touch.
Back home, Mom would've never let me stay up this late.
Or eat that much.
Or even enter a boy's house, let alone splash around in his pool and laugh like an idiot.
But here…
Here, I felt free.
And safe.
And maybe... alive?