I relish in the softness beneath me, it feels as if I am sleeping on a cloud. It's just way too soft to be real. There can't be something so soft on the streets, so the only explanation I have is that I am dead and currently in heaven.

Finally! Thank you, God.

I open my eyes, though my eyelids are screaming at me to let them be. The brightness has me closing my eyes again. I force them open after a second. Wow, heaven sure is bright!

The next time I open my eyes, I see a white ceiling. Do they have rooms in paradise? I was expecting bright blue skies. I struggle to sit down. My whole body hurts.

When I finally manage to sit-awkwardly might I add-my gaze falls on a guy sitting on a black leather couch situated against the wall. He's facing towards me. His head is tilted back and his eyes are closed; maybe he is asleep. Dark chocolate brown hair, high cheekbones, a chiselled jawline; his face as a whole convinces me he is an angel.

Humans aren't this beautiful.

Though, he oddly reminds me of someone: Someone who brings bitter memories to me making my heart squeeze painfully in my chest.

No, he is someone else, I convince myself. He isn't dead, he is still very alive and on Earth.

But then, I feel a burning pain in my stomach and I let out a scream. I shut my eyes tightly and wait for the pain to subside. The pain makes me realize that I am not dead, but very much alive.

I open my eyes again and find him gone. For a second, I think he's just a figment of my imagination. I hear footsteps and I patiently wait for the door to open. A lady, a nurse probably, walks to me hurriedly and lays me down.

A nurse; meaning... I am in a hospital.

And here I was, thinking this to be heaven.

I let the nurse do her work, noticing that she smiles at me in pity now and then. After a while, she walks away.

"She needs food. She's been hungry for a long time. Her doctor says she might have chronic gastritis."

Is there someone else too?

"Thank you, I will get her something." A deep voice replies, sending shivers down my spine.

I remain laid on the bed. The door opens and closes, leaving me alone in the room. Worry settles in me when the reality of my situation sinks in.

I'm in a hospital... I'm going to need money; money that I do not have. I have to get out of here.

I get up, ignoring the pain in different parts of my body. I am wearing a hospital gown and I know I must be looking like a mess, but that is the least of my concerns right now.

My eyes fall on the IV and I struggle to get it out. I have to run away though. Just when I pull at the IV, the door opens and I turn my head to see who it is.

I freeze. Completely. My blood runs cold. He... it's him.

He has changed so much. He's not a boy anymore, but a fully grown man - muscles and all. The mature look on his face tells that. His tanned face looks angelic like always and there is stubble across his chin making him look even more striking.

He looks at me, then at my hand. His eyebrows shoot up as realization hits him. He throws the bags that were in his hands on the couch before running to me. My heart skips a beat when he wraps his warm hands around mine. He gently removes my hand from the IV.

"God, what were you thinking?" he scolds. His voice has become huskier and deeper, I notice. I just look at my hands, feeling overwhelmed. I feel tears prick my eyes, happy ones. I never thought I would get to see him again.

"Sit down," he orders rudely and I silently sit down on the bed. He walks to the couch and as he walks back, it reminds me of how tall he is: a solid foot taller than my 5'3". He returns with the bags he had brought in earlier.

He is wearing a black suit, black pants, and a white button-up. His attire may seem simple, but it screams 'power and money'. I can't help but wonder if he remembers me.

I don't even look like I used to.

Living a year on the streets does that to people.

After shuffling around, he walks to me and hands me a bowl. I look at the contents and my stomach growls loudly, making my cheeks heat up. Chicken soup. I haven't had a proper meal in so long.

"Eat," he orders, his voice a just a little softer this time, like he knowingly softened it. I refuse to take it. I don't have money, how would I repay him?

"Come on, eat. I'll feed you if you don't," he says seriously, his tone rude again. I look at him with wide eyes before taking the bowl from him and holding it in my hands. It feels warm against my hands and makes me feel at ease.

He leans on the wall and carefully observes me; an action that makes me feel uneasy but I don't say anything.

As if I can.

Once I am done, he walks over and takes the bowl. The chicken soup was delicious and it made me feel good inside. However, as I hadn't eaten for so long, my stomach felt funny.

He sits on the couch and starts talking; it's quite awkward because he doesn't know that I can't talk. "I... hit you with my car and you passed out for a few hours. Which reminds me, why were you running in the middle of the road? Are you suicidal or something?"

My eyes widen at his rude and accusatory tone. But, I keep my eyes trained on my lap.

He sighs.

"There are no major injuries. I'll pay for everything, medicines included. What's your address? I will drop you," he asks, as if he didn't know me. As if I was a stranger to him.

Address? What would I tell him? Streets? The end of a dark alley?

I don't reply to him.

"Where do you live?" he repeats. I still don't answer. Not because I don't have a home but because I can't.

When I don't reply, he grunts in frustration.

Hey! Relax; it wasn't my choice to go mute.

The nurse walks in then and talks to him about my discharge papers. She removes my IV and hands him some files. He politely thanks her before walking to me.

"Here," he passes me a bag, "go, change."

I take the bag with a frown and step on the floor. I wince when I take some steps to the bathroom, my knees burn. He rushes to my side and holds me by my waist.

Like old times, the memories flash in my mind.

Sighing for the millionth time, he startles me when his hand comes behind my thighs, his other hand wrapping around my upper back. He carries me easily as if I weigh nothing, maybe I don't, and I clutch his shirt in a firm grip.

I felt self-conscious because I hadn't showered and I knew I smelt awful, looked even worse.

He, however, didn't seem to mind.

He lets me down gently once we are inside the bathroom.

I close the door and take the clothes out of the bag. A silent gasp escapes my lips when I see a dress and some pretty expensive underwear. What the.. he remembers my.. size? That causes my cheeks to heat up.

The dress is plain, full-sleeved, white in colour, and would come to my knees. The underwear, however, is anything but plain. It is maroon in colour, lace, and all. For a second, I think about not wearing any of it, but I can't walk around naked. So, I put it on.

How am I going to repay him?

I look in the mirror and cringe at my reflection. I splash water on my face to look somewhat presentable. Dull, grey eyes look back at me and I know there is no point in trying to look 'presentable'.

He doesn't even care, I'm sure.

He again carries me out and into the halls of the hospital, as if I weigh nothing. As if it's completely normal. As if I didn't smell horrible because homeless people don't get to shower.

We could have taken a wheelchair.

I hide my face in his chest because of the attention we were getting. He tenses for a second before relaxing again. He walks outside the hospital with me in his arms.

"So, you don't want to talk to me?" he asks, scoffing slightly.

He thinks I don't want to talk to him. That's not true. That's so not true. I am dying to talk to him, to ask for his forgiveness for what I had done. Sadly, I can't.

I don't reply. Instead, I look at his emerald-green eyes. The green in his green eyes is still my favourite colour.

"You don't have a home, do you?" he blurts. It hurts a little, but that is the truth. I shake my head no.

"You live on the streets?" he asks with hesitancy.

I nod.

He sighs and looks at me for some time while carrying me bridal-style. Then, I see a black car coming towards us until it stops right in front of us. The chauffeur opens the door to the backseat and he enters the car with me on his lap. He doesn't set me down, I do not protest.

My eyelids feel heavier and I stifle a yawn. I lean my back on him and he doesn't seem to mind as I hear him sigh softly.

"Go to sleep, Ella," his soothing voice says, and I smile a little before closing my eyes, drifting into the darkness.

He remembers me.

.