My Little Princess
1252 Words
Amara Cross POV
The car finally stopped after a long, exhausting twenty minutes and dropped me off.
I walked forward with heavy steps and knocked lightly on the door. My heart pounded hard against my ribs, nervous and tight. This would be our first hug in years.
I barely had time to take one breath before the door flew open and Isla appeared.
"Amorrr!"
Her voice shattered the quiet street as she called me by my old childhood nickname. Then she threw herself at me and hugged me so tightly I almost lost my breath.
"Oh my God! I can’t believe you’re really here! Did you get taller? Wait… let me check!"
I raised an eyebrow, confused, my forehead creasing. "What?"
She stepped back, rubbing her chin with her fingers, staring at me like I was a painting in a gallery.
"Hmm. I should get a height ruler! You must’ve grown a full five centimeters since the last time I saw you… although honestly, I can’t really tell."
She burst out laughing as she circled me. I clenched my grip on my bag and tossed it at her playfully.
"Stop it! I’m not a dwarf like you think!"
She lifted one eyebrow with sharp sarcasm. "Oh, you totally are. I swear I saw a bird fly over your head and it didn’t hit you because you’re so short!"
She poked my arm lightly, laughing even harder.
"Islaaa!"
I shouted her name and slapped her shoulder gently. We both laughed, a clean, warm laugh that melted the ice of the years between us.
"Your place looks different than the last time I saw it. It’s much nicer now, by the way."
I murmured, admiring the corners of the room.
"I know. And I’m proud!"
She spread her arms like she was showing off a royal palace, then added between laughs, "Come on, sit down, my little princess. Tell me, how was the trip? Did you get lost? Robbed? Or eaten alive?"
I collapsed onto the couch, my body drained, and let out a deep breath, pushing the last of the fear away.
"Isla… I almost got kidnapped."
Her laughter vanished instantly. She sat beside me, her face hard.
"What?"
"I went through two terrifying situations. If a strange man hadn’t shown up out of nowhere and saved me… He punched the attacker so hard his face was completely messed up."
Isla gasped and leaned closer, eyes burning with curiosity.
"Wait, wait! A mysterious hero? Handsome? Strong?! Don’t tell me your college start turned into a real movie drama!"
I yelled with fake anger, "It almost turned into a real crime, and you’re dreaming! And my pants with the pink and orange cats… yes, those too! They were my favorite. I want to cry."
My voice cracked, like losing my cotton cat pants was the final blow to my patience.
Isla couldn’t hold it in. She exploded with laughter, falling back onto the couch, holding her stomach.
"Oh my God! Your cat pants!! Did you say the cats were lined up like a flock of ducks?!"
I smacked her shoulder hard. "Stop it! I’m being serious!"
She wiped tears of laughter. "So am I! If I were you, I’d cry over the pants alone. Bags can be replaced, but pink cats are priceless!"
I buried my face in the pillow and mumbled, "Stop, or I’ll really cry!"
Our laughter faded when Isla stood up and headed to the kitchen.
"Come on. I’ll give you some of my clothes until we solve the bag issue. I’ve got pajamas with beetle prints. Fair compensation!"
I lifted my head slowly, pure horror on my face.
"Isla, don’t do this to me. I don’t want nightmares tonight!"
I let my hair fall over my shoulders after undoing the tie and rubbed my scalp with a deep sigh of relief. I straightened, searching for my phone in my bag.
My hand touched nothing.
"That’s strange… where did I put it?"
I searched under the cushions. Turned the bag upside down. Nothing. I tucked my hair behind my ear, panic creeping in, a heavy weight pressing on my chest.
"I didn’t use it in the dean’s office… not in the taxi either… could it be that…?"
My eyes widened in shock. Blood drained from my face.
"Oh God. No. No. Not again!"
I jumped up and ran to the kitchen.
"Isla! A third disaster!"
She turned to me, hand over her heart. "My heart just dropped. What is it?!"
I said, my face pale as death, "I forgot my phone in Mr. Dorian’s car."
She slowly placed the knife on the counter and stared at me.
"Who? Mr. Dorian? The man who helped you today?"
I nodded and dragged a chair, collapsing into it completely defeated.
"What do I do now?"
We exchanged helpless looks until Isla pulled her phone from her apron pocket.
"Here. Call your number. If he has it, he’ll answer."
I grabbed the phone, my fingers shaking as I typed my number. I pressed call and lifted it to my ear.
Ring… ring…
No answer.
I sighed in despair. "No one’s answering. I must’ve dropped it in the street."
I was about to hand the phone back when it suddenly vibrated in my hand.
I looked at the screen.
"Amorra!"
"It’s him! It’s him!"
Isla and I screamed together.
Silence filled the room as I took a deep breath. My finger hit the green button before I could stop it.
"Hello? Mr. Dorian…?"
I didn’t finish.
His deep voice slid into my ears. Heavy. Masculine. It sent chills down my spine.
"Little one, is this a phone or a maze? I press the answer button and it throws me into a hair styling game."
My mouth fell open. I slapped my forehead.
What a disaster. Cursed phone.
I sucked in a huge breath to calm myself while Isla waved at me like a lunatic, whispering,
"Speaker… put it on speaker!"
I pressed the button nervously.
"I’m really sorry, Mr. Dorian. My phone fell in your car without me realizing."
"It’s fine. Would you like me to return it to you?"
I looked at Isla. She was jumping like a rabbit, nodding hard. I tried to sound calm, but my voice came out stiff.
"Yes, if you don’t mind. But… how will you give it back to me?"
"I’m busy right now. We can meet tomorrow at three thirty at Señorita Restaurant if you want. I’ll give it to you then."
My eyes widened. I whispered to Isla, embarrassed, "What restaurant is that?"
She made a calming gesture. "I know it. I’ll take you."
"Yes, I know it well. We’ll meet there, Mr. Dorian."
I lied with a tense smile.
"See you then, little one. Don’t worry. Your phone is safe with me."
"Goodbye, Mr. Dorian."
Just before I ended the call, his voice returned, amused.
"By the way… your violent way of turning on that crazy phone is very effective."
The call ended.
I froze.
What way?
Then the memory hit me. Me slapping the phone repeatedly in front of him to make it work.
Pure humiliation.
I looked up at Isla, who had collapsed on the floor, holding her stomach, laughing uncontrollably.
"Oh my God! Did he see you use your grandma’s phone technique?!"
She was coughing from laughter. I handed her a glass of water, my lips pressed tight in deadly embarrassment.
"I want the ground to open up and swallow me right now."
- Writer
