Pinky Promise (En)

Chapter 3: 5 days before the big day

The castle is unusually silent. Everyone has gone out to explore the city, leaving the hallways empty and bathed in the soft afternoon light. I stayed behind, pretending to feel a little tired, but in truth, I needed solitude. Between the wedding preparations, Harry's return, and the chaos of my emotions, everything feels like too much.

Sitting on my bed, I stare at the ceiling, lost in thought. Harry's image keeps flashing in my mind—his cold gaze, his sometimes sharp words, and the chasm that seems to have grown between us. How did we get here? He used to be my rock, my safe haven, and now he feels like a stranger.

And then there's Niall. My future husband. His smile, his kindness. He's everything I've ever wanted... so why am I so confused? My heart should feel light at the thought of marrying him, but deep down, a voice whispers that I'm not enough.

"Sofia..." I murmur inwardly, closing my eyes. "Tell me what to do. How can I fix everything without losing what I have?"

I decide to leave my room for a walk, hoping it will calm me down. But as I pass by Harry's open door, I stop dead in my tracks. The room seems to call me, as if some invisible force is pulling me in.

Before I even realize what I'm doing, I'm inside. The familiar scent of Harry lingers in the air—a mix of his cologne and the faint minty aroma of the gum he's always chewing. My heart races. Why am I here?

My eyes sweep across the room and land on a brown leather notebook sitting on the bedside table. My heart clenches. It's the notebook I gave him three years ago, for his last birthday before everything changed. It was a tradition between us. Every year, I'd give him a notebook—a ritual—for him to write down his thoughts, song ideas, or just random doodles.

I pick it up carefully, a wistful smile tugging at my lips. I still remember the note I wrote inside, on the first page of every notebook:
"Harry,
So you can keep filling the pages of your life with everything in your heart. Thank you for being you.
Always,
Delilah."

Tears well up in my eyes when I see he's kept it. As I flip through the pages, I find photos glued here and there: the two of us, younger, carefree, laughing until we cried. Each moment feels so distant now, almost unreal.

There are also hastily scribbled song lyrics, raw with emotion. I smile despite myself. Some things about him never change.

Then, an envelope slips out of the notebook and falls to the floor. My breath catches. My name is written on it: For Delilah.

I pick it up, holding it as if it might crumble in my hands. Why does Harry have a letter for me? My mind races. What could it contain? A confession? A reconciliation? Or worse... a goodbye?

Before I can open it, a throat clears behind me, making me jump. I look up to see Harry standing in the doorway, his arms crossed and his gaze icy.

"What are you doing in here?" he asks, his voice hard.

I stammer, unable to form a coherent response. "I... I didn't mean to... I was just passing by, and..."

"And you came into my room?" He steps forward, his movements deliberate. "You're going through my things now?"

"No! I wasn't... I didn't touch anything. The door was open, and I..." My voice trembles, and I feel my cheeks burn with shame.

Harry approaches, grabbing the notebook and envelope from my hands. "You shouldn't be in here," he says coldly. His words hit like daggers. "Seriously, Delilah. Why are you doing this?"

I stay silent, unable to explain. Why did I come in here? What was I looking for?

He shakes his head, clearly frustrated. "You haven't changed," he mutters, almost to himself. "Always meddling in things."

His words sting, but I can't help but respond. "I didn't mean to... I don't know why I came in here. I'm sorry, Harry. Really."

He averts his eyes, his fingers tightening around the envelope. "Just leave, Delilah. Before we say something we'll both regret."

I stand, my heart heavy, and leave the room without another word. But before I do, I glance back at Harry one last time. He looks as lost as I feel, like part of him wants to say or do something else. But he stays still, locked in his anger and something else I can't quite place.

Back in my room, I sit on the bed, breathing hard. My mind spins in circles.

"We said no secrets..." I whisper to myself, thinking again of Sofia. "So why does everything feel so broken?"