Harry Styles Oneshots

In the quiet of rain

It was one of those nights in London where everything felt like it was on the cusp of change, like the world had pressed pause, waiting for something new to begin.

The sky had turned an angry shade of gray around midday, and by evening, the rain came down in thick sheets, turning the city's streets into rivers of reflections and shimmer. The pavement was slick, and the typical bustle of the city had quieted, the sound of distant traffic swallowed by the steady drum of water against the ground.

Y/N had been hoping to catch a bus, but when she reached the stop, the bus seemed to vanish around the corner just as the first heavy drops began to fall. She sighed, pulling her umbrella from her bag and opening it with a snap, but before she could even make up her mind about walking in the rain, she spotted a tiny coffee shop nestled in the corner of the street, its warm golden light spilling onto the pavement.

Grateful for the respite from the weather, she stepped inside, shaking off the rain. The bell above the door jingled softly, its sound a little more cheerful than the one ringing in her mind. She hadn't planned on being in this part of town tonight, but the moment her eyes adjusted to the warm light and the inviting smells of coffee and baked goods, she felt strangely at peace.

The shop was quiet, save for the soft hum of jazz music playing in the background, and the low murmur of a few conversations. But then, her eyes landed on him.

Harry Styles sat in the corner of the room, near the window, his back to the wall and a small, leather-bound notebook open in front of him. He was dressed casually, in a faded sweater, denim jeans, and a dark green scarf loosely draped around his neck. His signature curly hair fell in soft waves, messy in that effortlessly stylish way that looked like he'd just rolled out of bed, yet somehow it was perfect.

Y/N's heart skipped a beat, but she quickly looked away, not wanting to stare too obviously. It wasn't like she was a stranger to the idea of celebrities walking around the city, but there was something about him that made her feel as though she'd stepped into some strange, alternate reality where she wasn't just a girl on a rainy night, and he wasn't just a man writing in his notebook.

She ordered a coffee at the counter, paying with a card and collecting her drink. She still hadn't figured out whether she should leave or stay, but as the rain grew heavier outside, the cozy shop felt too good to leave.

When she walked to the table by the window to sit down, the soft chime of the bell above the door echoed again as another patron entered. But before Y/N could even pull out her phone, she felt the unmistakable sensation of someone looking at her.

Her breath caught in her chest as she turned, and sure enough, Harry Styles was looking right at her.

"Hey," he said, his voice deep, warm, and completely unbothered by the fact that she was definitely not the only person in the coffee shop staring at him.

Y/N blinked, unsure how to respond. "Hi," she said quickly, a little embarrassed that she had been caught staring. She shifted awkwardly, but he didn't seem put off by it.

"Not a lot of people come in here just for the coffee, you know?" Harry continued, his tone light, his smile easy. "I think most people come for the Wi-Fi, but you don't seem like the type." He nodded to her phone, which she was still holding in her hand.

Y/N smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, I'm not really a fan of it. I like to write things down, you know? Old-fashioned."

Harry's eyes softened, clearly intrigued. "Same. I feel like the best ideas come when you're not trying to make them perfect. It's the mess that makes it interesting."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "I agree. But sometimes it's hard to stop yourself from overthinking." She paused, then added, "I guess that's the tricky part, huh? Not overthinking."

Harry leaned back slightly, his fingers tapping lightly on the edge of his notebook. "I think we all do it," he said with a small shrug. "But what's life without a little mess, right?"

For a moment, the conversation paused, and Y/N felt the weight of his gaze on her. It was the kind of look that made her feel like he was trying to understand her, as though his eyes could see beyond the surface, into the parts of her that she didn't show most people.

The quiet between them was comfortable, almost as if the noise of the world outside didn't exist. Harry's presence didn't overwhelm her; it was calming, like the rain outside. And Y/N realized that despite her hesitation, she didnt mind the connection they were starting to share.

"Would you mind if I joined you?" Harry asked, breaking the silence. "There's something about sitting by the window that makes me feel like I'm being watched. Not in a creepy way, I promise," he added with a wink, and Y/N found herself laughing.

"Of course," she said, surprised by how easily she agreed. She had no idea why, but there was something so naturally easy about Harry—something about his kindness, the way he listened. It was disarming, but in the best way possible.

Harry smiled, gathering his things and moving to the seat across from her. His movements were fluid, graceful in a way that was hard to ignore. When he sat down, his eyes locked with hers, and it was like the rest of the coffee shop faded into the background.

"Do you write?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"I do," Y/N responded, feeling like she could be honest. "Just for myself, though. I'm not brave enough to share it with anyone."

"I get that." Harry leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand. "Sometimes the best things are the ones we keep to ourselves, don't you think?"

There was something comforting in the way he spoke, as though he wasn't just a celebrity, but someone who understood. Someone who got it.

"Maybe," Y/N said, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "I think it's more about finding the courage to share the parts of yourself that you're afraid people won't understand."

Harry looked at her for a moment, then slowly pulled a small, folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket. He slid it across the table with a gentle nudge. "If you ever need someone to listen, or even just to talk to... you can call me. No pressure, though. I promise."

Y/N stared at the paper for a moment, her heart thudding in her chest. She hadn't expected this, but there was something about the way he said it—so casually, so kindly—that made her believe him.

She reached for the paper, unfolding it slowly. The number written on it was neat, the handwriting loopy but precise. A short note followed:

"Sometimes the best conversations happen when you're not looking for them. I'll be here if you ever need one."

Y/N felt her chest tighten as she looked up at him, meeting his gaze. "Thanks," she said quietly, her voice almost lost in the space between them.

Harry smiled again, his eyes twinkling with a hint of something unspoken. "Anytime," he replied, his voice soft but sincere.

She tucked the paper into her bag, unsure what to do with it. The rational side of her whispered that it was just a friendly gesture. But something in her gut told her it was more than that. She wasn't sure if she'd ever call him, but there was something about tonight, something about the rain and the warmth of the coffee shop, that made her feel like she might just be on the verge of something new. Something real.

As she stood to leave, her fingers brushed against his as she stood. The brief contact sent a little shock of warmth through her, and for a moment, it felt like the whole world had paused.

"Take care, Y/N," Harry said, his voice low and almost intimate, as though he were speaking directly to her soul.

"You too," she replied, her heart still racing as she stepped out into the rain.

The moment she stepped back onto the wet street, the sound of the rain seemed a little softer, the weight of the world a little lighter. She looked at the slip of paper in her hand, then back up at the stormy sky. Maybe she'd never call him. Maybe this was just a one-time encounter. But there was a feeling in her chest, a quiet hope that perhaps this was the beginning of something more.

Maybe, just maybe, she'd be brave enough to find out.