Unlikely (H.S.)

seventeen

~Harper~

As I stepped into the shower, the warm water cascaded over my skin, instantly soothing the tension that had been building up since Harry had left. I let the water wash over me, hoping it would calm the nervous energy buzzing beneath my skin, but my mind was racing. Thoughts of him swirled in my head, as vivid as if he were still here. The way his lips had felt on mine, the heat of his hands as they explored my body—it all played on a loop in my mind, sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the temperature of the water.

My fingers trembled slightly as I reached for the razor, carefully shaving, making sure every inch of me was smooth. The act felt almost ritualistic, like I was preparing myself for something significant. My thoughts wandered back to our time together, replaying every touch, every glance, every whispered word. I could still feel the weight of his gaze on me, the way his eyes darkened with desire when he looked at me. The memory sent a jolt of electricity through me, awakening a longing that I couldn't ignore.

But alongside the desire was a gnawing uncertainty. What was going to happen tonight? I wasn't sure what to expect, and that uncertainty gnawed at me, a mix of excitement and anxiety that I couldn't shake. I wanted him—there was no doubt about that. The connection we'd been building was like a live wire between us, sparking with every glance, every touch. But what did he want? Did he see tonight as just a fun evening, or was it something more? And was I ready for whatever that might be?

After towelling off, I stood in front of the mirror, running my fingers through my damp hair. My hair was cooperating today, falling into place with minimal effort, and for that, I was grateful. I wrapped myself in a plush robe, the fabric soft against my freshly shaved skin, and padded over to my closet. I stood there for what felt like forever, staring at my clothes as if they held the answers to all my questions.

Jeans or a dress? It seemed like a simple choice, but tonight, it felt monumental. The jeans would be casual, comfortable, safe. But the dress... The dress felt more vulnerable, more revealing in a way that had nothing to do with showing skin. I pulled out an eyelet midi dress, the natural fabric sliding through my fingers. It was pretty, with a flowy skirt that moved with every step, and I knew a cardigan would keep me warm enough without being too much. But would it be enough? Would it impress him, or would he think I was trying too hard?

I slipped into the dress, feeling the fabric glide over my skin as I did up the side zipper. I took a hesitant look at myself in the mirror. I looked... nice, simple, to me I looked chic. But was good enough? My heart pounded in my chest, my thoughts tumbling over one another. What if he wasn't impressed? What if he regretted asking me out? What if he wanted someone else? My mind kept drifting back to the girls that approached him at the market. Those are the types of girls he's bound to be with, not me with my eyelet blouses, vintage levis, and puffy sleeves. He deserved a girl who had that Hailey Bieber clean girl aesthetic, who had slicked back hair and glazed pancake or whatever it is, skin. I wear concealer, blush, and mascara. My hair is in a bob, it's not even long enough to be slicked back. I am a zero in comparison to their tens and Harry, boy oh boy, was he a ten. What if—?

I shook my head, trying to silence the doubts that threatened to consume me. I didn't have time for them. The dress was fine. The dress was more than fine. As I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, carefully applying my makeup, my thoughts kept drifting back to earlier today. I couldn't stop replaying how close Harry and I had gotten—how intense our makeout session had been. The memory felt like a slow-burning ember, refusing to extinguish, no matter how hard I tried to focus on the present. My hands moved automatically as I brushed on a light layer of blush, but my mind was miles away. I could still feel the warmth of Harry's hands on my skin, the way he'd pulled me closer, like he couldn't get enough. It was thrilling, intoxicating even, to feel that kind of raw passion between us. We'd been so wrapped up in each other, teetering on the edge of something more. But then my phone had started buzzing, pulling me out of the moment. I let out a small sigh, my lips curling into a wry smile. My friends, Amalia and Daphne, had been blowing up my phone, desperate for updates on what was happening with Harry. They were so excited for me, eager to know every little detail. I couldn't blame them—it's not every day that someone like Harry comes into your life. But at the same time, I couldn't help feeling a little frustrated. What would've happened if my phone hadn't interrupted us? Would we have crossed that line? Would I have let myself give in to the undeniable pull between us?