Laila's POV

I woke up as the sun rays hit me directly in the face to find myself on the floor of an unfamiliar room. Oh wow Deja vu.

And just like before someone was occupying the bed, the only difference being that the person was looking down at me with sleepy eyes.

"Morning," I muttered, a yawn escaping my lips, "Do you feel okay now?" Getting up, I stretched my sore limbs. Apparently floor is not a good place to sleep on.

"Why are you here?" He asked, confused.

"Eh?" Yeah Laila why are you here? "Umm I guess I feel asleep without realizing." Was that believable enough?

He just kept looking, now fully awake. I hadn't taken off his overcoat last night and it hung off a shoulder.

"Umm I should probably go," I muttered inching towards the door which I had left open, just in case he wasn't comfortable with me sprawled across his bedroom floor.

Just as I was out of his room and about to shut the door, he whispered, his eyes on the bed, "Thank you."

I didn't need to ask what for. So I nodded at him, although he couldn't see it and closed the door before he looked up and caught the smile that broke across my lips.

By the time he joined me in the kitchen I had already bathed and dressed nicely (in slacks and a sky blue dress shirt  that is, which was dressing nicely for me) and was struggling to make breakfast.

"You should've just ordered something you know. Give that hand some rest so that it can heal," he said coming to stand beside me.

He looked nice in distressed jeans and t shirt, "I really hate any sort of change in my food plus," I looked up since he was at least a foot tall, "I have been wanting to apologise to you for being mean."

"Huh?" He was clueless.

"You cooked for me and I kind of insulted you. I could've at least appreciated your efforts."

"It's alright," he said taking the eggs away from me. They were the last of the stock. That grocery shopping was due too many days, "I know I am not good at cooking. You said anything but the truth." He stated, cracking the eggs open and pouring the contents into a bowl.

"Am I still not good enough?" His words found me again.

"Do you always look down on yourself just because you can't do certain things?" How could he do that to himself, how could he think so lowly of himself?

"I just know I am not good enough, thats all," he started whisking them.

"I can't dance," I started, "When I sing the nearby people go deaf. Does that mean I am not good enough in general? Should I be ashamed of myself?"

"Miss what do I do now?" He changed the subject pushing the bowl towards me, indicating he didn't want to discuss anything else on that matter.

"Fine!" If that's what he