I am THE Harry Styles's Therapist

Chapter 2: The Arrival in LA

The instant Jenny stepped off the plane, the sun hit her like a wall. She squinted against the brightness, her body still acclimating to the time zone change and the shift in energy. LA wasn’t just a city—it was an assault on the senses. The air was warm and heavy, thick with something unnameable, a kind of ambition that hung in the atmosphere like smog. She inhaled, trying to steady her nerves, but the excitement bubbling in her chest made it hard to focus.

The streets were alive with noise—cars honking, music blaring from open windows, people rushing past with an ease that felt foreign to her. Everything in LA seemed exaggerated. The palm trees, the endless rows of billboards, even the sky, which seemed impossibly wide and blue. Nothing here felt real, and yet, it was too real all at once.
Jenny guided her rental car through the traffic, her GPS softly directing her to the clinic where she’d be meeting Harry for the first time. Her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as she caught glimpses of the Hollywood sign in the distance. This wasn’t Boston. She wasn’t in her small, familiar apartment surrounded by textbooks and research papers. She was in his world now. The world of celebrities, fame, and endless speculation.

She rehearsed what she’d say in her mind, over and over again, as if that would make it easier. But the truth was, no amount of research could prepare her for this. She could read every interview, every tabloid article about Harry Styles, but none of it would matter once she was face-to-face with him.

Her heart skipped a beat as she pulled into the parking lot in front of the clinic. She turned off the engine, letting the silence envelop her for a moment. Why am I so nervous? she thought. He’s just a person. A client. You’re not here as a fan, you’re here to help.

But still, a small part of her—the part that used to dance around to One Direction songs in her bedroom—whispered, What if he asks who your favorite is?

She forced herself to push those thoughts aside as she stepped out of the car. Adjusting her jacket, she took a deep breath and walked toward the entrance, her heels clicking softly on the pavement. The door opened with a quiet creak, and she was met with the cool, sterile air of the clinic.

Her stomach churned with anticipation. This was it. The moment she would meet him—Harry Styles.
And from here, there was no turning back.