Trace

Chapter 42

I stare blankly at the phone in my hand, not sure what to do. 

  "What's up?" Niall asks me from across the small table. 

"This is definitely a sign," I mumble. 

  Anne<3 : Hey, girl. I know we haven't talked since the Nando's meet up, but I just wanna see how you're holding up after the incident. If you dont wanna see me or speak to me, I totally understand. xx

 "Cae?"

I lock the screen and place my phone gently in my lap like it's made of fine china. 

  "Literally like twenty minutes ago, I was thinking of Anne and Ayla. And guess who just texted me?"

"Anne and Ayla?" he guesses after taking a sip from his cup. 

  "Anne," I confirm gravely. 

  "Coincidence? I think not."

I laugh. "What should I do?" 

  "Well...what does the text say?"

I unlock my phone and show him the screen. He raises his eyebrows. 

 "Seems innocent enough."

I shrug, "I guess so. I'll just figure this out later. So- what's up with you?"

 Niall leans back in his chair. "Well I'm moving into my flat on Thursday."

I slam both of my hands on the table and surprise myself with the noise. "No kidding! I completely forgot about that!"

   Niall chuckles. "It's no biggie, really." 

"Can I help?" I ask. 

 His eyes light up. "Only if you want to. . ."

I roll my eyes at him. "Of course I want to, idiot. Just let me know the time I should be at your house to help you with last-minute packing." 

  Niall runs a hand through his hair and flashes me a grin. 

"That would be great," he says, "thanks, babe."

*****************************

HARRY'S POV

The drive back to University took fucking ages. Last time I made the trip back to London felt like only munites. I guess time goes by much faster when you're drunk and speeding and enraged. 

  Now, I am settled in my room (which is empty, thank God) trying to read a book El gave me. 

She claims it is the best book in the whole entire world, but I could easily refute that. I did not mention to her that I absolutely hate reading when she proudly handed over to me her prized novel. I could not bear the look of hurt that would inhabit her beautiful face. 

  So, now, I lay in my dormroom bed with Dear John hovered over my face, my eyes trying desperately to catch the words and feed them into my brain. I picture El sitting cross-legged in her garden so indulged in the pages, and I long for that feeling so that I could maybe feel like I am with her even though I'm so far away. 

  All too soon, I am ripped from my thoughts when the door is barrelled open; I quickly shove the romance novel under my pillow. 

   "Hey, Shane."

He doesn't even give me a look of disapproval at the misuse of his name. 

  "Harry!" he greets, a bit too happily for my likings.