I am THE Harry Styles's Therapist

Chapter 8: Deary Date

It was a crisp autumn afternoon, the kind of day that made the world feel cozy, with golden leaves crunching beneath their feet as Harry and Jenny strolled across the Harvard campus. The historic buildings stood tall and grand, their charm enhanced by the rich fall colors. Harry had never really spent much time on college campuses—his rise to fame took off when he was young—but walking here with Jenny felt different. It felt... grounded.

“So, this is where all the magic happens, huh?” Harry teased, his arm brushing lightly against hers as they walked past students sitting on benches, noses buried in textbooks. “You and your brilliant brain, running circles around all these poor undergrads.”

Jenny laughed, nudging him playfully. “Yeah, something like that. Though I’d argue the real magic happens in the lab. You’d be surprised how much science is basically just organized chaos.”

“Sounds a lot like songwriting, if I’m being honest.” He grinned, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You think you’re in control, but really, it’s all just emotions and improvisation until something sticks.”

“That’s actually a really good analogy,” Jenny mused, intrigued. “The brain works a lot like that. Everything’s connected—neurons firing off, some parts lighting up with creativity, others managing memories or emotions. I think that’s why music affects people so deeply; it taps into those primal circuits, the ones we can’t always explain.”
Harry tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. “You mean, like... when you hear a certain song and it gives you chills?”

“Exactly!” she said excitedly. “That’s your brain releasing dopamine, which is basically a reward chemical. It’s like the music gives your brain a little high.”
“Wow, so all this time, I’ve been getting people high with my music?” Harry’s eyes twinkled mischievously.

Jenny rolled her eyes but couldn’t help but smile. “Not exactly what I meant, but sure, if it helps your ego.”

They laughed together, and the air between them felt light, easy. There was something about their friendship—or whatever it was—that allowed for moments like this. Moments where they could bounce between neuroscience and songwriting, food and banter, all with an undercurrent of something more simmering beneath the surface.

As they continued walking, the conversation flowed naturally, touching on everything from Harry’s latest tour to Jenny’s upcoming research presentation. She had been delving into how music could impact brain plasticity—how the brain changes in response to experience.

Harry listened intently, fascinated by her passion and how she was making connections between their two worlds.

“You know, it’s funny,” Harry said thoughtfully. “Back when I first met you, I never would’ve thought about how closely connected music and the brain are. Now it all makes sense. Music isn’t just sound; it’s this whole experience that changes the way we think and feel.”

Jenny nodded. “Exactly. That’s why it’s so powerful. And honestly, it’s why I love working with musicians. You guys are practically rewiring people’s brains with every song.”

Harry smiled, his eyes lingering on her as they approached the small cabin-style apartment where Jenny lived. Tucked away at the edge of campus, it was a cozy sanctuary for her—a place to unwind after long hours at the lab.

“Speaking of rewiring brains,” Harry quipped, “you hungry? I’m starved.”
Jenny raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. You want to grab food at the most famous pizza joint in Cambridge? It’s kind of a staple for visitors.”

He smirked. “You know me too well.”
As they settled into a nearby café, the conversation drifted to lighter topics. Harry ordered a slice of pizza while Jenny went for a salad, much to Harry’s dismay.

“Salad? Really?” he teased, taking a big bite of his pizza. “We’re in Boston, and you go for greens?”

Jenny shrugged, grinning. “Hey, the brain needs nutrients. Plus, someone’s gotta balance out all the carbs you’re inhaling.”

“Alright, alright, fair point,” Harry conceded, leaning back in his chair. “But when we’re done here, I’m taking you for dessert. You can’t say no to dessert.”

“Who says I’m saying no?” Jenny said with a playful glint in her eyes.

The evening flowed smoothly from there, as they explored Harvard Square, window-shopping and people-watching while the cool breeze swirled around them. The unspoken tension between them remained, but it was mixed with warmth and familiarity.

Eventually, they made their way back to Jenny’s apartment. As she unlocked the door, Harry paused for a moment, his gaze softening as he took in their surroundings.

“This is really nice,” he said, stepping inside. “Feels like... you.”

Jenny smiled, closing the door behind them. “Yeah, I guess it does. It’s my little escape from the chaos.”

They sat on the couch, sipping tea Jenny had prepared, and the conversation naturally quieted, giving way to a heavier, more charged atmosphere.

Harry glanced around at the bookshelves, at the research papers scattered on the coffee table, before his eyes landed back on her.

“You know, we’ve never really talked about... that night on the beach,” Harry said quietly, his voice almost hesitant.

Jenny’s heart skipped a beat. She had known this conversation was coming, but she wasn’t sure how she felt about it.
“I know,” she said softly, her gaze meeting his. “I didn’t think we should. Back then, I mean. You were still my patient.”

“But I’m not anymore,” Harry pointed out, shifting closer.

Jenny’s breath hitched, and she felt the weight of those words settle between them. They weren’t bound by rules anymore. Slowly, Harry reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing her cheek as they lingered for a moment longer than necessary.

“I think I want you, Jenny,” he whispered, his voice vulnerable and raw.
The confession hung in the air, and Jenny felt herself being pulled toward him, her emotions swirling as the years of unspoken feelings bubbled to the surface. She leaned in, her lips brushing his in a kiss that was soft at first, but quickly deepened with all the pent-up desire they had both been holding back.
His hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer as she threaded her fingers through his hair, their kiss growing more passionate with each second. It was intense, electric, and it felt like everything they hadn’t said over the years was finally being spoken through their touch.

They pulled apart just enough to catch their breath, their foreheads resting against each other. Harry’s eyes were filled with heat, amusement, and something deeper—something that had been building for years.

But before either of them could speak, there was a sharp knock at the door, startling them out of their intimate bubble.

Jenny blinked, pulling back slightly as the knock came again, more insistent this time.

“I should get that,” she whispered, reluctantly standing up.

As she opened the door, one of her colleagues from the neuroscience department stood there, looking apologetic. “Jenny, I’m sorry, but I really need your help with something for tomorrow’s presentation.”

Jenny shot Harry an apologetic glance before nodding to her colleague. “Of course. Just give me a second.”

She closed the door and turned back to Harry, her expression a mixture of frustration and regret. “I’m so sorry.”
Harry stood up, a small, understanding smile playing on his lips. “It’s alright. We’ll talk later?”

Jenny nodded, but the look in his eyes—and hers—said everything. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

As Harry left, the weight of what had just happened between them lingered. The kiss, the connection—it had changed everything. They both knew that whatever they had started tonight was far from finished.