offshore | h.s

64

HARRY STYLES

This overnight flight to LA feels endless. I'm exhausted but eager to see Gen and Avery. I settle into my seat, the hum of the plane a constant background noise. To pass the time and keep my mind occupied, I pull out my laptop and start working on some song lyrics for the upcoming album.

There's a song I've been toying with called "Point of View." The lyrics have been floating around in my head for days, and I finally have the time to put them down. 

I type, "I was thinking about who you are, your delicate point of view, I was thinking about you," humming the melody softly under my breath. One of my producers sent me a track, and I start to layer my lyrics over it. It's coming together nicely, and I lose myself in the creative process, adding more lines and refining the ones I already have.

Every now and then, my team tries to get me to engage in some marketing strategies or possible interviews with radio stations but my focus is on the music. It's my way of coping with the stress and the chaos of the past few weeks.

The plane lands with a slight jolt, and I run my hands through my curly hair, feeling the exhaustion settle in. Right now, I'm in a cardigan and some running shorts with Vans—not the most put-together outfit, but it's comfortable and no one is going to see me anyway. We land at a private jet airport closer to our house, so the transition from plane to car is quick and seamless.

As soon as the plane door opens, a crew member grabs my luggage and puts it into the waiting black Range Rover. I step off the plane, the cool early morning air hitting my face, and slide into the backseat of the car. The driver nods at me, and we're off, heading straight home. The car is quiet, just the soft hum of the engine and the occasional buzz of my phone.

I'm about to call Gen when my phone rings. It's her. A smile tugs at my lips as I answer.

"Hey, baby," I say, trying to keep the tiredness out of my voice.

"Harry..." Her voice is shaky, filled with fear. Immediately, my heart clenches.

"Gen, what's wrong?" I ask, sitting up straighter in the seat.

"There are paparazzi outside," she says, her voice trembling. "I don't know how they found us, but they're everywhere. I'm scared, Harry. Avery's scared too."

I close my eyes, anger and frustration boiling inside me. "Fuck. Are you both safe inside?"

"Yes, but they're banging on the windows, shouting your name. Avery's crying, and I don't know what to do."

"Okay, listen to me," I say, trying to keep my voice calm and reassuring. "Go to the back of the house, away from the windows. Lock all the doors and close the curtains. I'm on my way, and I'll handle it when I get there. In the meantime, call the police."

"Call the police? Okay, I will," she says, her voice a bit steadier now. "Amber and Vada are here with us."

"Good," I say, feeling a bit of relief. "Stay with them. I'm going to call my manager and get this sorted. I'll be there soon."

"Please hurry, Harry."

"I will. I promise."

As soon as I hang up with Gen, I call my head of security. The line barely rings before he picks up.

"Harry, what's up?"

"We've got a situation at home. Paparazzi have surrounded the house. Gen and Avery are scared. Can you call the police and get over there?"

"On it. We'll have a team there in minutes."

"Thanks," I say, trying to steady my breathing. "I'll be there soon."