Before you go... //h.s

When Harry met Sally

Was my jeans and sweatshirt too casual? Would he think it was weird? Should I be wearing trackies if I was only going over to watch a film? I don't think anyone had ever found picking an outfit so hard as I found it before I went to Harry's for the first time. Everything I tried on just didn't seem to look right. It shouldn't be this hard, but once again I was overthinking everything.

I trudged to Maya's room, hoping her wardrobe would prove more successful than my own – at least that was an advantage of a roommate – it was like having two wardrobes. A white turtleneck caught my eye and finally I decided on wearing that with my pair of navy juicy couture trackies. I pulled a puffer on as well, knowing that New York winters could be bitterly cold, and it was still late January.

I said a quick goodbye to Stanley and fed him before I left, hands stuffed deep into my pockets in an attempt to stop my fingers from turning blue.

I raised a cautious fist to knock at his door. He'd sent me his address the night before, and just as I expected it was in a nice area, Greenwich street, Tribeca. I'd felt slightly intimidated as the doorman let me in, after giving me a look that suggested I was not suitable to be visiting Harry Styles. A part of agreed with him and wanted to run home from the lavish building that I felt so out of place in. Even the lobby was gorgeous, plush, creamy sofas and a white marble floor. A doorman stood beside the door preventing people from entering and operating the turning door. There were three lifts and they weren't slow and creaky, taking half an hour to reach the 4th floor like our lift did in mine and Maya's building. It was clear that this area, this building was aimed for those richer and more famous than me.

I knocked. It was soft, probably so quiet he couldn't even hear it, but I managed to knock. I told myself that if he didn't answer, I would go home. I would pass the snooty doorman, head held high and walk home. Without regrets.

I would tell Maya that it just wasn't going to work and I would find other friends who were more 'my standard'. I was well aware that he was so far out of my league I couldn't even see him – but I wanted to be friends with him, and he wanted to be friends with me. Didn't he? No, he definitely did. He was the one who'd asked for my number, he'd asked to hang out first, he'd...

A soft clearing of the throat distracted me from my mind wandering. Damn, I needed to stop letting my mind wander, I thought again as I realised the door was opening and Harry was waiting for me to enter. I gave Harry a smile, relived to see he wasn't dressed up at all either and I'd worn the right thing. Nice one Iris, but why the fuck were you worrying so much, you wally.

He moved aside to let me in. I stopped for a second as soon as I entered, having to pause and take in the apartment: it was gorgeous but... not at all what I'd expected. He seemed like the kind of person to make sure everything felt just right, homely and comfortable. The kind of person who would keep things tidy but wouldn't worry about small messes.

This apartment was pristine. Not a crumb could be seen or a cushion out of place. The walls were painted a bright white, not a single photo and poster adorning them. The majority of the apartment was open plan, just three doors leading off to what I assumed was a bathroom and two bedrooms. The kitchen section of the apartment consisted of a white marbletop island and drawers... just lots of drawers, probably to hide all the pans and food that might ruin the immaculate appearance. The sofa was creamy, plenty of plush, plump pillows placed on it carefully with a glass coffee table in front. Then there was a tv, the large black rectangle a slight shock compared to the cleanly white of the rest of the apartment.

'It's uh... very nice' I stuttered, unable to describe it and having to hold back my shock.

'Go on, you can just say it.' He told me, not doubt having expected my reaction.