Dream Catcher (amnesia) - h.s.

7: The Notebook, buns and mother struggles

When I open my eyes, Harry is back. Of course he is. He's sitting in the chair, which can't be very comfortable. He's reading a book, his feet propped up on the bed.

I shift a bit in the bed, stretching, and he looks up from his book. "Hey, you're awake." He says.

"What are you reading?" I ask him curiously. He shows me the cover of his book. It's The Notebook by Nicholas Sparks.

"So it's true that you love The Notebook." I say, raising my eyebrows.

"Guilty." He chuckles. "We've watched so many romcoms together, I've lost count. We've watched The Notebook, like, four times. We never not cry when we watch that. This is also the umpteenth time that I'm reading the book." He slams the book shut and puts it on the bedside table. He runs his hand through his curls, and feels both of his wrists. I amusedly watch him as he tries both his pockets, and when he still can't find what he's looking for, which, I'm guessing, is a rubber band, he starts rummaging through his big bag. "You know, I used to never really get that struggle that girls always had with rubber bands. They buy, like, two thousand a month, and yet they seem to lose every single one of them. I only get that struggle now that I need them myself." He says while searching through his stuff.

I laugh at him. "Well, if the new Anna is even remotely like the old Anna, I'm sure there must be at least a couple in my purse."

"Right. You're the organized one in the relationship." The word relationship feels strange still. He laughs, then grabs my purse and finds what he's looking for within seconds. Then he ties up his hair, and I watch as he does so, intrigued.

"Where did you learn that?" I ask him, as I admire the way the bun looks on him. I pat the bed and he takes a seat next to me, cuddling up to me. It almost seems like a habit already, being close to each other and having physical contact.

"I don't know, I just started doing something. You gave me tips, though."

"So you wear rubber bands now." I state.

He looks at me, an amused look in his eyes. "Yeah, my hair got pretty long and I got tired of it being in my face all the time."

"Yeah, I know the struggle. You're good at it, though." I chuckle as I grab my own hair, which has been in a ponytail since I woke up from my coma. Not the same one, though. I just like wearing it out of my face.

"Thanks." He smiles.

"You know what strikes me? Or well, actually, it kind of does not. My haircut is only slightly different from what I remember. It's just a little longer, but the hairdo is the same."

"And that strikes you – or not – because?" He asks.

"It's so typical for me. I don't like change. I like things to stay the same, so that I feel like I have control over the situation." I tell him. I feel like I'm telling my secrets to a stranger, although I know he probably already knows this about me, like he knows everything about me.

"Yeah, you like to be in control." He chuckles.

"Is that something you don't like about me?" I didn't want to ask, but then I did anyway before I could think about it again. "I'm sorry, I don't want to make things uncomfortable..." I quickly say to excuse myself, but he interrupts me. "No, that's okay. It's actually something I do like about you. It's the little things, the flaws, small imperfections, you know, that make you perfect." He smiles sweetly as he lays his hand on my thigh.

I don't want to mention the fact that he just used a song title of his in that sentence, because I don't want to ruin the moment, but he probably sees me thinking.