Before you go... //h.s

Breakfast at Tiffany's

I woke up from the gentle beams of light peeping through the gap under the blind. Next to me, Maya breathed deeply, still asleep. We'd hardly made it through the door before we both crashed onto the sofa, exhausted. And that was how we'd stayed all night.

A quick glance at the clock had me rushing for my clothing swearing under my breath as I rushed to get ready, managing to knock a few books off our table in my haste. It was 7:45 meaning I had precisely 15 minutes to make myself look presentable, find my phone and purse and somehow make it across central park. I was screwed.

'Iris!' Maya groaned from the living room, 'Do me a favour and kindly shut the fuck up.' I gave a half smile at her grumpiness, hangovers were not a good look on Maya.

Hair flying out of my ponytail and cheeks flushed, I rushed into the coffee shop. For the second time today, I glanced at the clock and my heart sunk, I was late. Considering it was only early January, my new year's resolutions were failing dismally. With a positive mind and a hopeful spirit, I had vowed to be better this year: I would be on time to work every day, I would go on a run at least 3 times a week and I would make a conscious effort to look like I hadn't been pulled through a hedge backwards every day. Three resolutions, each sensible and achievable I had told myself.

Now I was laughing at my previous optimism and crying at my current chaos.

Ash hadn't even bothered to tell me I was late this morning, the harsh actions of me flinging my bag into my locker and scowling as looked at the clock told him I was well aware of that and did not need to be reminded. But I had heard a small laugh as I'd left the backroom and he commented to himself,

'Oh well. Girls, what can I do?'

'Black coffee please.' Holy fuck. I didn't just... I couldn't have just... did I just hear a British accent? No I couldn't have, I was clearly just missing home and desperately wishing for a small piece of my country to visit me. Green eyes, framed by brown, curly hair with a single strand slipping across his forehead. Bloody hell, I was looking into the face of Harry styles.

'Uh... yes of course. Anything else I can get you?'

'You're... British?' he spoke loudly, ignoring my question, then immediately looked at his feet, seemingly embarrassed by his outburst. It felt strange – strange that someone so world known and loved could be intimidated by me. Small, insignificant Iris who no one looked at in the street and no one gave a second thought. Strange, yes, but not unwelcome.

I nodded, confirming his question.

'So why are you in New York...,' he paused, clearly hoping I'd give him my name,

'Iris,' I told him with a small smile, still focusing on making his coffee.

'So why are you in New York Iris?' he replied. This was the kind of small talk that he should be confident making, considering the number of strangers he'd no doubt talked to in his life, but... there was hesitation in his eyes and his feet shuffled on the floor.

'Well, you know, the usual...' I tell him, not sure he actually cares and not wanting to waste his time with my boring story. He laughs, a loud laugh with no holding back,

'No. I don't know actually, you're the first British girl I've come across in New York for... well I can't even remember the last time I heard my home in someone's voice. Anyway, whatever the reason for you being here, it's not just the usual.' He speaks, repeating my words back to me. I give him a soft nod, acknowledging his words as I hand him his coffee. He quickly thanks me before ducking his head as he stepped out the coffee shop, no doubt trying to avoid the paparazzi or adoring fans.