Hendrix's POV
The rain hit the windshield like a thousand tiny fists, each drop louder than the one before.
Visibility was garbage. Even with the wipers on full speed, the world ahead of me looked like a smeared painting—gray, angry, and loud. 🌧️
I gripped the steering wheel tighter, tension knotted between my shoulders.
Something felt off.
Not just the weather. The kind of off that sits low in your gut—twisting. 🌀
I should've turned back. Postponed the trip. Waited till the storm passed.
But I couldn't.
Because I knew she was out here.
Somewhere.
Then—my headlights cut through the blur, and my breath caught.
There.
In the middle of the road. 🚘💥
A figure, small and unmoving, soaked to the bone, standing like the storm hadn't touched her—but was inside her.
Eliana.
I hit the brakes hard. Tires screamed. My heart slammed into my ribs.
She didn't move.
Just stood there.
Frozen. ❄️
The rain drenched her, soaked her hair flat to her face, clung to her clothes. Her arms were limp at her sides. Her eyes were wide—but empty. Like she wasn't seeing any of it.
Like she wasn't there.
I threw the car into park, jumped out, and ran.
"Eliana!"
She didn't flinch.
Didn't blink.
Then—⚡
Lightning cracked.
She gasped. Her knees buckled.
And I saw it happen—her body giving in to something she'd been holding too long.
No.
I didn't think. I just moved.
Just before she hit the ground, I caught her—arms wrapping around her waist and shoulders instinctively. 🤍
She landed in my chest with a soft thud. Soaked. Shaking.
Her fingers curled into my shirt—barely. Like she was holding on to the last thread of reality.
"Eliana," I said, voice low, careful. "Are you okay?"
She didn't answer.
Didn't even look at me.
She just… trembled. Head buried in my chest, her whole body tense and small.
God, she was freezing.
And she didn't fight me.
She didn't say anything.
That scared me more than if she had screamed.
I adjusted my grip, one arm behind her knees, the other still around her back, and lifted her off the ground.
She barely weighed anything.
Just a storm's worth of sorrow wrapped in soaked skin and silence. 🫂🌧️
I carried her to the car as thunder roared behind us.
Every step I took felt heavier than it should've.
Once inside, I cranked the heater and pulled a blanket from the backseat. I kept one hand on the wheel, the other on her wrist—checking her pulse, holding her hand, grounding myself with her touch. 🤲
Still no words from her.
Her eyes were closed. Her head leaned against the window.
She wasn't asleep.
She wasn't awake either.
Half-lost.
I parked in the driveway and reached across to brush her hair back from her forehead.
The moment my palm touched her skin, I froze.
Burning.
She was burning. 🔥
"Eliana…"
My jaw clenched. Panic, cold and sharp, sliced through me.
She had a high fever.
And she was out there in that storm.
Alone.
What the hell happened to her?
This girl used to chase thunderstorms. Laugh at lightning. Dance in puddles barefoot. 🌦️👣But tonight?
She looked like the rain had broken her.
All the while, I kept her hand in mine.
Because the storm outside?
It was nothing compared to the one I saw in her. 🌪️
"Eliana…" I murmured again, brushing the wet strands from her face, voice tight.
I didn't waste another second.
I threw the car into gear and drove—fast, but careful—all the way home.
—
The moment I opened the door, Mom appeared at the end of the hallway, suitcase in hand, coat on, clearly about to leave for the airport. ✈️
And then she saw us.
She froze.
"Eliana?" Her voice dropped, sharp with concern. "What happened?"
"She was out in the storm," I said quickly, shifting Eliana gently in my arms. "She collapsed. She has a high fever."
Mom's brows pulled together, her suitcase forgotten. "Why was she alone? In this weather? What were her parents thinking?"
I hesitated. "It's complicated."
She glanced between me and Eliana, her expression softening as she saw how tightly Eliana clung to my shirt—even in unconsciousness.
Mom sighed. "Okay. Lay her down in the guest room. I'll get some medicine and a towel. We've got twenty minutes before I have to leave."
I nodded and moved quickly.
The guest room was warm and quiet, dimly lit with soft lamps. I placed her on the bed, pulled the comforter over her, and sat beside her as Mom bustled in with supplies.
She worked quickly and efficiently—cool cloth to her forehead, fever medicine between her lips, careful hands checking her pulse. 🧺🩺
Then she stood, brushing her palms off. "She's stable for now. You'll need to keep checking her temperature every hour, and make sure she drinks something once she wakes up."
I nodded. "I will."
Mom looked at me. "What happened to her, Hendrix? I need the truth."
So I told her. Everything.
By the time I finished, Mom's eyes were misty, her mouth pressed into a line.
"Oh, Hen…" she whispered. "She always was the brightest part of your childhood."
"She still is," I said quietly. "Even now. Even if she doesn't remember."
Mom reached up, cupped my cheek like I was still ten years old, and smiled sadly.
"Take care of her, sweetheart. The way you always wanted to." 💞
Then she kissed my forehead, grabbed her suitcase, and left for her flight—pausing only once in the doorway to say,
"You always said you'd protect her.
Looks like the universe finally gave you the chance."
And then… it was just me and Eliana.
—
Hours passed.
I stayed by her side.
I changed the cloth on her forehead.
Held her hand when she stirred.
Whispered reassurances she couldn't hear.
Eventually, her fever broke.
The tension in her body eased.
Her breathing evened out.
Soft. Gentle. Like waves on a quiet beach. 🌊
And finally…She slept.
Peacefully.
I exhaled and leaned back in the chair beside her bed, rubbing my eyes.
She is okay.
But I couldn't stop looking at her.
Her face is softer in sleep. Less guarded. Her lashes curled against flushed cheeks. A faint line between her brows, even now—like she is dreaming of something she couldn't understand.
She is beautiful.
So painfully beautiful it hurt to look too long.
I swallowed hard and looked away.
This isn't the time.
She is vulnerable. Confused. Recovering.
But that didn't stop the ache in my chest—the one that had been there since we were kids.
The one that only grew every time I saw her again.
She used to follow me barefoot in the garden, declaring frogs to be royalty and sticks to be wands. 🐸✨
And now?
Now she is a woman.
Stronger. Quieter. But still carrying too much weight on her shoulders.
A weight I wanted to help her carry.
I turned my gaze back to her. Gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
If she remembered me… would she smile?
Would she still call me Hen Brother?
Or would she look at me the way she had in the café—like I was just another stranger?
I didn't know.
But I knew this: whatever she needed—space, time, truth—I'd give it.
Because love isn't just about what you feel.
It's about what you do when it matters most. ❤️🩹
So I sat back in the chair again.
And stayed.
Because she is here.
And this time—I wasn't letting go.