Stranded [harry styles] ✓

5

There's a plane. 

Quite common in this part of the world, I would imagine, especially with the tourism. Except this plane is smoking. And it's not flying straight. 

It's heading straight for the ocean.

"Oh my God." I breathe, hauling myself upwards and covering my mouth with one of my hands. 

Jules is frantically tapping away on her phone, putting it next to her ear, looking at it, tapping it again. 

She can't get through. 

"Jules, they're going to crash!" I cry.

And then I'm drowning. 

The balmy sand beneath my feet has gone; replaced by absolutely nothing.

I'm kicking frantically in an endless vat of murky water, my arms flailing madly. 

Every breath I attempt to take is just another mouthful of salt water filling up my lungs instead. 

Jules is nowhere to be found. It's just me. Alone. 

I call her name but it comes out in a stream of bubbles.

I don't even know where the surface is...

"Jules!" 

I'm bolt upright. 

And completely and utterly dry. 

I clutch my throat -  which once again feels like sandpaper - and try to stop myself from hyperventilating. I was dreaming.

No, I was having a nightmare.  

My forehead is slick with sweat and my heart is thudding painfully in my chest. I try to focus on my surroundings. 

I appear to have thrown what looks like five plain t-shirts off of myself in the process of launching into a sitting position and I seem to be perched on top of a palm leaf. It's not entirely comfortable but it beats chafing against the sand. A large metallic object looms over me and I realise, as promised, the plane door is leant up against a tree. 

I don't remember setting all this up. 

In fact, I don't really remember anything other than hauling the damn thing out of the water. 

Did Harry do all this?!

The same Harry that I saw wading out of the sea just moments ago?

I turn my head to the side and see him lying a little way from me. He's facing away, sleeping on his side on a palm leaf with his legs sprawled out beneath him. He's made a pillow out of the hats and a duvet from the beach towel. He's changed into the board shorts I had discovered in our suitcase raid; they're canary yellow which initially is a little garish for my tired eyes but the more I look at them, the more they suit him.

If it wasn't for his incredibly burnt shoulders and the fact we're sleeping behind a plane door, I'd think we were just sunbathing. 

I really wish we were. 

I spot our other finds next to him, as well as the bottles of water which he's dug into the sand - presumably to keep cool. I decide to wait until he wakes up before I help myself to my 'three sips'. 

I rub my eyes and realise that my headache seems to have settled. There's no longer that incessant pounding and I don't feel like my skull is going to cave in anymore.

Hallelujah! 

 I haul myself up from the palm leaf and steady myself standing upright. My muscles are stiff again but whether that's residual discomfort from the crash or the result of sleeping in the same position for a long time - I'm not entirely sure. I stretch and step around the plane door, squinting at the sunlight that's already blaring down onto the island. I haven't seen it dark here yet and it's hard to believe that it ever could be.