Finally, Everything Falls Into Place.

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Ariel's POV

I walked to my door to see who knocked, Bryson.

"Hey Bryson."

"Ariel, do you feel any better?" he asked, the concern clear in his voice.

"Yeah, I don actually. It must have been just a little cold."

"Well I brought you some medicine, coffee, and gummy worms!" he said. Gummy worms were my favorite candy, ever since I was little.

"Thanks, it means alot. So I'll see you tomorrow?" I asked,

"Of course. Oh and by the way, that guy I was telling you about, the British one? He's coming back tomorrow night to watch you play. I told him how amazing you were. Never know A, he might be the one. So dress up!" he hollers over his should as he's walking out the door.

I press my back against the door, and fall to the ground, and bring my knees to my chest. "Okay Ariel, maybe it's not him. There's tons of British people in New York." I try to reason with myself. Even if it is him, I'll ignore him. I've been doing fine since I've moved, besides the lonliness. I have a job, and it's my dream, and I can't let my first love affect that. So I'm gonna go to work tomorrow and play my heart out. That's my goal. And I might as well look a little more dressed up. Why not?

Harry's POV

The Next Day, 8 at night.

I walk in the restaurant, hoping to catch a glimpse of this pianist Bryson was talking about yesterday. He recognizes me, and leads me a one man table, front and center next to the piano.

"She's on break for about 10 minutes. She'll return shortly. Can I get you anything?" He asks politely.

"No thank you. I'm okay for right now." I reply.

He nods and continues to mingle with customers. I wait what seems like an hour, when she finally walks out. She walks from behind me, facing away from me. She's wearing a long floor length navy blue dress (picture of her dress on sidebar), her hair in an elegant up-do. Her hair reminds me of Ariel's, long and blonde, unforgettable. She takes her seat, and ponders what to play. I wish I could see her face. So, I stand up and walk around her center stage to see why she looks so familiar. As soon as I reach the other side, my breath hooks in my throat, I can't put words together, I can't see properly, with the exception of her. She's all I see. She doesn't see me yet, and I want to wait a bit, because I want to hear her play. She looks down at the keys, sets her hands, and begins. It's mezmurising. The way her hands every so lightly stroke the keys, the way she flips her hair every once in a while when it falls in her eyes. Her eyes. I'm close enough to see the color again.

She stops after a few minutes, and I didn't hear what she played, because I couldn't stop looking at her.

She stands to take another break, and she turns my way, well she has to, I'm by the stairs to lead her down to the floor. She doesn't move a muscle. She doesn't blink or twitch, but the does one thing and I knew what that one thing was. The one thing she always does when she's afraid.

She ran.

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