THE GIRL SHE WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO LOVE

THE GIRL SHE WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO LOVE

CHAPTER 1

Elena’s POV

The sky was sparkling, the sunlight breaking through the early morning mist. I hadn’t expected the sun to rise so quickly after last night’s heavy rain. Drops still clung to the windowpane, glinting like tiny diamonds, but the streets outside were slowly drying under the pale warmth of dawn.

I was staring at the sky, lost in thought, when my mother’s voice called me from the kitchen.

“Elena, breakfast is ready!”

I sighed and turned, realizing my father was already waiting at the table. The day had barely begun, yet my mind was already crowded with university assignments and a stack of case files I had promised myself I’d finish. Law—it was supposed to be my passion, but sometimes I wondered why I had even chosen this major.

I walked into the dining room. The breakfast table was neatly set in true London style: a crisp white tablecloth, gleaming silver cutlery, small bowls of fresh fruit, croissants warm from the oven, and steaming cups of tea that filled the air with a comforting aroma. Sunlight spilled across the polished wood, and for a moment, it almost felt normal—ordinary, safe.

“Good morning, Elena,” my father said as he looked up from his plate. “How are you today?”

I glanced at him, forcing a smile, and said, “I’m fine… just busy with work.” My voice sounded quieter than I intended, almost swallowed by the clinking of spoons and the soft hum of the city waking outside.

After finishing breakfast, I glanced at the clock and felt my stomach drop. The file I had been meaning to work on… I hadn’t even touched it. How could I have forgotten something so important? This was an essential assignment, and I was already running late.

I hurried to my room and grabbed the folder, rifling through the papers to figure out where I’d left off. Just then, my phone buzzed with a message from my best friend, Sophie:

“where are u girl ? file's due at 9, and we’ve only completed half! Hurry, we need it done.”

Panic surged through me. Time was slipping away faster than I could catch it. I quickly said goodbye to everyone at the table, mumbling a quick “See you later,” and made my way to the driveway.

Sliding into my father’s old Honda—a 2006 model that had seen better days—I couldn’t help but grimace. This car was slightly dangerous, and I had promised him I’d sell it once I started my part-time job. But for now, it was my only option.

I rolled down the window and let the cool London air fill my lungs. The early morning breeze carried the faint scent of wet pavement, mixed with the aroma of fresh pastries from the corner bakery. I exhaled, trying to calm the flutter of panic in my chest.

The streets were already stirring with the city’s usual rhythm. Red double-decker buses rumbled past, taxis honked impatiently, and cyclists weaved between cars with practiced ease. Pedestrians hurried along the sidewalks, clutching umbrellas and coffee cups, dodging puddles that hadn’t yet dried from last night’s rain. The city felt alive, relentless, and just a little overwhelming.

I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my mind racing. There wasn’t a second to waste.

The streets of London blurred past me in a mix of gray cobblestones and glinting puddles, reflecting the early morning sun. The city was alive, its rhythm relentless: the distant hum of buses, the chatter of pedestrians hurrying to work or lectures, and the occasional bicycle weaving deftly between cars. Street vendors were already setting up their carts, the smell of roasted coffee beans and fresh bread drifting through the air.

I navigated through the familiar chaos, mentally calculating the minutes left before the assignment deadline. A puddle splashed against the side of the car as a black cab zoomed past, jolting me slightly. I gritted my teeth and focused on the road, London’s familiar chaos both energizing and unnerving me at the same time.

Finally, I reached University College London. I pulled the Honda into the crowded parking lot, weaving carefully between other cars and dodging a few impatient cyclists. The campus was coming to life: students carrying backpacks, laughing in groups, and hurrying to their lectures. The historic stone buildings towered over the streets, their old facades softened by the morning sun.

As I stepped out of the car, I immediately spotted Sophie, leaning on her bike with her arms crossed, her sharp gaze fixed squarely on me. Her dark hair whipped slightly in the breeze, and her eyebrows were furrowed in that unmistakable look of frustration only she could pull off.

She didn’t even need to speak. I knew exactly what she was thinking: “Why are you so late, Elena?”

I swallowed, adjusting my bag over my shoulder, and forced a nervous smile. “Morning, Sophie… I’m… I’m coming, I swear!”

Her glare didn’t soften, but at least she let me pass. I hurried toward the law department, my heart racing—not just from the morning rush, but from the half-finished assignment waiting for me.

I rushed toward the law department, my bag bouncing against my side, papers rustling inside. Sophie didn’t move from her bike, her arms still crossed, eyes sharp and impatient.

“Elena! Finally!” she snapped as I drew near, her voice low but fierce. “Do you know what time it is? The file… half done? We’re running out of time!”

I bit my lip, feeling my cheeks heat up. “I know, I know…” I hurried past her, fumbling with my bag. “I… I completely forgot it this morning. I just—” My words trailed off as panic bubbled up.

Sophie’s expression softened just a fraction, though her voice stayed sharp. “A fraction? Elena, this isn’t a fraction—it’s the whole assignment! We need it ready by nine, and we’re not even halfway through. Come on, move!”

I nodded quickly, trying to steady my racing heart. My hands shook slightly as I pulled out the folder, checking the pages for where we’d left off. The clock in the hall seemed to tick faster than normal, each second hammering at my nerves.

We found a quiet table near the window, sunlight spilling across the papers like a spotlight on my panic. I opened the file and tried to focus, but my mind kept wandering—how did I let this happen? I can’t mess this up… not now.

Sophie shot me a quick, pointed look. “Focus, Elena. We can’t waste another second. I’ll handle the formatting; you just… do your part.”

I nodded again, biting my lip and forcing myself to concentrate. Fingers flying over notes, I tried to silence the nervous flutter in my stomach. Outside, London continued its relentless rhythm—the buses, the cyclists, the distant shouts of street vendors—but inside, it was just me, Sophie, and the ticking clock.

Time was slipping, and there was no room for mistakes.

Finally, after what felt like hours, I finished the assignment. My hands ached, my eyes stung, and every nerve in my body felt frayed. I handed the completed file to Professor Simon, who gave me a brief, approving nod. Relief washed over me like a cool wave. I exhaled deeply, closing my eyes for a moment, letting the tension drain from my shoulders.

I opened my eyes and noticed Sophie staring at me, her expression sharp, almost like she could see every thought running through my head. Her gaze made my chest tighten.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, a little defensively.

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she just kept looking, as if she was reading my soul. Then she shook her head, letting out a small, exasperated sigh.

“You… you forgot,” she said finally, her voice low but firm. “Next time, don’t leave half the work undone. And don’t even think about giving me partial credit for this one.”

She took a sip of water, the gesture casual, but her eyes never left mine. I couldn’t help but feel a little guilty, even though I had technically finished the assignment.

“I—what?” I stammered, trying to recover my composure.

Her lips curved into a small, teasing smirk. “Seriously, Elena. I did most of the heavy lifting here. Don’t make me take credit for your panic too.”

I rolled my eyes, but a small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth despite my exhaustion. Sophie always had a way of keeping me grounded, no matter how stressed I was.

***

By the time I arrived home, it was almost ten o’clock at night. The quiet hum of the London streets had faded behind me, leaving only the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional distant car horn. My parents were waiting, their expressions a mix of concern and mild impatience.

I slipped into my room and sank onto the bed, feeling the weight of the day finally settle over me. The warmth of the mattress and the quiet of the room wrapped around me like a soft blanket. For the first time all day, I felt a sense of peace, a rare stillness that let me breathe without the constant flutter of panic or deadlines. My eyelids grew heavy, and for a moment, I let myself just be, letting the tension melt away.

But the moment was brief. My mother appeared at the doorway, smiling but insistent. “Elena, hurry up and change. Dinner is ready.”

I groaned softly but nodded. “Okay, okay… give me ten minutes.”

Ten minutes became a flurry of movement. I stepped into the shower, letting the warm water wash away the stress of the day. By the time I emerged, I felt lighter, calmer, ready to face the evening. I slipped into soft, comfortable pants and a short, casual shirt—not too short, but just enough to feel relaxed at home.

Walking to the dining room, I found the table softly lit, a warm glow reflecting off the dishes my parents had prepared. I sat down, feeling the comforting aroma of home-cooked food, the quiet hum of conversation in the background, and the gentle presence of my parents nearby. For a brief moment, I let myself relax fully, savoring the small comforts that reminded me life wasn’t always chaos and deadlines.

The dinner table was warm and inviting, a soft contrast to the chaos of the day. A neatly laid tablecloth stretched across the surface, with simple but comforting dishes placed in the center—grilled chicken, roasted vegetables, and fresh bread still warm to the touch. After dinner, I wrapped my hands around a warm cup of coffee, letting the heat seep into my fingers. The rich aroma filled the air, calming my senses as I took a slow sip. I had just lifted the cup to my lips again when my father’s voice broke the silence.

“Elena… I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

Something in his tone made my chest tighten slightly. I lowered the cup, glancing at him. “Oh… okay.”

But instead of continuing, he simply looked at me for a moment before saying, “Finish your dinner first. Then we’ll talk in the living room.”

A strange feeling settled in my stomach—uneasy, unfamiliar. My parents exchanged a brief look, one I didn’t fully understand, but it was enough to make my thoughts start racing again.

I took another sip of coffee, but this time, the warmth didn’t feel as comforting.

Whatever they wanted to say… it wasn’t something small.

And somehow, I knew—

This night wasn’t going to stay peaceful for long.