The state I'm in COMPLETED

Bubble

The realization that my life as I knew it was changing, shifting irreversibly with Harry in it, hit me hard as I lay on the sofa, my head resting on his lap. Supposedly, we were watching TV, but in reality, neither of us was paying any attention to the mindless reality show about farmers flickering across the screen. My thoughts were tangled in the events of the night, in the weight of what Harry had told me.

I could sense his tension, feel the way his fingers absentmindedly toyed with my hair while his mind wandered somewhere else entirely. My heart ached for him. The pressure, the choices he had been forced to make at such a young age, the anxiety of having his entire future dictated by circumstances beyond his control—it was all so unfair. He had carried so much weight alone, and now, he was terrified that once I truly grasped the reality of his situation, I would run. But how could I? How could I even consider leaving when every fibre of my being screamed that I needed to stay?

"Penny for your thoughts," he murmured, his voice breaking through my reverie.

"Hey... I'm just tired," I lied, shifting slightly but making no move to pull away.

"You wanna go get some sleep?" His fingers threaded gently through my hair, and when I looked up, his eyes were searching mine. Before I could answer, he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to my lips, as if grounding himself in the moment, in me.

"We should," I admitted, though the last thing I wanted was to separate from him.

Reluctantly, I sat up, switching off the TV and dimming the lights, Harry watching my every move. As I grabbed my pyjamas from my room, I caught sight of him standing at the doorway, hesitating, unsure.

I hid a small smile.

"Goodnight, Valerie," he said finally, far too formally, turning toward Rose's room, his disappointment barely concealed.

"Goodnight, Harry..." I replied sweetly before stepping into the bathroom, letting him stew in his assumptions just a little longer.

From inside, I could hear him moving around in the other room, the faint sounds of him settling in.

"You do remember I take the right side of the bed, don't you?" I called out, my voice teasing through the closed door.

There was silence for a moment, followed by a long, relieved sigh.

"Yeah," he answered casually, like it was obvious, like he had never doubted it.

I chuckled to myself.

When I emerged from the bathroom, I found him waiting just outside the door, wearing nothing but black boxers, looking entirely too smug for someone who had just been tortured for the past ten minutes.

"You do, huh?" I raised a brow, feigning scepticism.

"Yeah, right side. Got it," he confirmed.

"Then why is Rose's duvet still on the bed?" I challenged.

"Shut up," he muttered, rolling his eyes, and I couldn't help but laugh.

We slid into bed easily, naturally, as if we had been doing it forever. He pulled me into his arms, his hand tracing soft, absentminded patterns on my arm, his warmth seeping into me. Soon, I drifted into sleep, safe and dreamless.

The next few days were blissfully uneventful.

Harry and I fell into an easy rhythm, spending most of our time together—at home, curled up in each other's arms, talking, laughing, kissing, or out exploring the city, discovering tiny cafés and bistros, stealing moments just for us. We lived in our own little world, untouched by the chaos lurking beyond.

I loved learning the little things about him—his favourite foods, the music that made him nostalgic, the stories from his childhood, how he met Leo, the way his face lit up when he talked about his sister. I loved how he took care of me, always making sure I was warm, comfortable, happy. It was effortless, seamless, like we had been made to fit into each other's lives.

For the first time, Harry seemed at peace, free from the weight of his past, and I revelled in seeing that side of him. He was genuinely happy.

But there was always a part of me that knew—our bubble wouldn't last forever.

"Haz, I need to get some groceries. I'll be back in twenty minutes or so," I announced, walking into the living room, where he was lounging with my iPad.

He looked up, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I love it when you call me that."

"Call you what?" I asked, tilting my head.

"Haz," he said simply, his smile widening.

I rolled my eyes, amused. "Well, Haz, I'm heading out."

"No, let me go instead." He was already standing, grabbing his jacket. "It's only fair—I've been staying here all week, using up Rose's stuff. I should contribute."

"You really don't have to—"

"I want to," he cut me off, gently taking the shopping list from my fingers. "Besides, I have a surprise for you."

"What kind of surprise?" I asked, narrowing my eyes playfully.

"If you behave, I'll cook you dinner," he said with a smirk.

"Ooooh, so you'll cook for me again?" I teased, remembering the first time he had cooked for me—back when he barely spoke, when he was still holding his secrets close to his chest.

"If you're a good girl," he replied, eyes gleaming with mischief.

I laughed, shaking my head.

Before heading out, he leaned down, pressing a chaste kiss to my lips.

And then he was gone.

I took my study guide, curling up in my armchair, and finally started reviewing my class options for the semester. It was peaceful, quiet—the kind of silence that felt warm rather than empty.

Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock on the door.

I smiled, assuming Harry had forgotten something.

"Hey, Haz, need hel—" My voice cut off abruptly as I opened the door.

It wasn't Harry.

A woman stood there, her expression unreadable, her eyes sharp as they swept over me.

"Hi." She gave me a tight smile. "You must be Valerie."

I felt my stomach drop.

"I'm Helena."

Helena.

Helena—Nadia's sister.

The woman who had taken a photo of my car just days ago.

"I saw you the other day," she added, her tone eerily calm.

And just like that, my bubble burst.