HYPOTHESES [N.H]

Hypothesis 1

I look up at the red building in front of me. I thought it would be bigger than only three floor building. The words " HAZZ STYLES " in large font across the top. I pause my step in front of its door as if I decide to get in there or not. No, I really consider it.

Hazz Styles is one of the most prestigious apparel brands on earth. I could only watch its fashion runway on tv all the way back when I was still in Mexico. I've explored the Styles for hundreds of times, from the back to front of the store just to admire the collections through every season and buy nothing due to the condition of my pocket. Now I'm here, standing right in front of the center office of this superstar brand.

To be hired as one of Styles' employees isn't the thing I've once ever imagined. I've always wanted to work in fashion, but never have I expected to be in Styles. It stresses me out mentally and emotionally, I'm not sure is it in a good or bad way or both way. A half inside me is sparking, but fears of failures kill my another half. I don't think I really deserve it.

I've been standing here, looking inside through this glass door like an idiot for good 15 minutes now. I bow my head, staring at the rug underneath my feet. The long and heavy breath escapes from my lungs, my usual behaviour when the nerves attack me.

Out of nowhere, I feel a strange grip on my arm dragging me in. I look at my wrist where the stranger's hand grasps me. I look up and find a blonde man leads the way.

He looses his grasp and turn his one-spot-sight to me.

"Next time don't stand in front of the door. You blocked people's way." His strange accent, which I think it's Irish or somewhere from UK, warns me. He looks so hot yet so cold with his dark blue see through shirt and that expressionless face. He looks familiar for me. I think I've ever seen him somewhere. But it doesn't bother me to recall it at this time, in this situation. I just nod at his words and watch him running upstairs.

I observe my surrounding. It's a cozy big room with pink wall. There's a cream coloured lounge complete with red velvet carpet in my left side. What makes this building looks more unbelievable is the soft drink machine in my right side.

I'm not entering the wrong building, right? I can make sure that I'm not in cafeteria or McDonald because the existence of Sam Teasdale on that lounge. I've known that she's been working for Styles' since I was 15, the first time I watched Styles' Spring/Summer Show 2012. Oh God, I should've asked for a sign now if I don't realize what condition I'm going through right this time.

I conclude that this is not the room where I should have a meeting with Mr. Styles. So I walk upstairs to find the receptionist.

I approach the receptionist table as I step my foot on the second floor.

"Excuse me. Is Mr. Styles here?"
"Ms. Rosario?" She says as she checks her notes.
"Yes."
"Right this way, please." She gives me a wide grin, showing the diamond on her right fang. I love how she chooses to grin instead of smiling.

I follow her step to the third floor. Her black and  5 inches Styles' heels from this season clank on the wood floor. It seems like she's a hardcore fan of the brand that she works for. Impressing.

She stops walking, causing me to turn my sight away from her shoes.

"Mr. Styles is waiting for you in there," she shows her diamond again.
"Yes, thank you so much," I give my best smile before she leaves me.

My hands are sweating and shaking. My legs are numb. These nerves are unprecedented.

I haven't entered that room. I haven't even knocked the door. There's still a chance for me to run away from here. But I can't go back. Mexico, I don't wanna be back there and reunite with my past and the heartbreaks. This is what I was born for. One more step towards this door, there'll be no turning back.

Knock, knock.
"Come in!"

I open the door after a British accent commanded me from the inside.

I enter the room and find a tall man with curly-long hair is looking out of the big window with his back to me. He's not aware of my presence. I clear my throat just so he'll realize my existence.

The bloke that I presume as Mr. Styles throws his eyesight away to me. He leans his head and glances at me. I get hypnotized by those green eyes. He looks breathtaking as hell in pictures. So, how does he look even better in real life?