Casanova H.S

Chapter Four

After we came home with the groceries I was quick to take my book, and pencil and leave. For years I have wanted to write a book, write something of my own. I love reading, but I just feel like it's something entirely different to actually make the book yourself. Write down words someone will relate to, or find absolutely beautiful. To write something that has an effect one someone is what I want.

I rushed here, to the only place I can think. There's a lake that runs through the whole town, and I am at the beginning of it where there is a small lake with a bench beside it. I honestly do not know why there aren't more people here, but it only benefits me more.

There is something about the sound of the water that soots me and makes it easier for me to write. I have written small things, but that isn't what I want, I want something that has its own world.

"What a coincidence running into you here." The familiar voice of Harry speaks up from behind the bench.

"Coincident? I am now certain you are following me." I turn around and look at him with a weak glare.

"Maybe I'm just here for the view." He says smartly as he walks over to take a seat beside me on the bench.

"I highly doubt that. Are you enjoying the view of every place I am at the exact time I am there then?" I raise my eyebrows challenging him to come up with another excuse.

"Alright fine, I may have asked where you were this time, but the other times were coincidences I promise." He admits holding his hands up in defense.

"Why?"

"I enjoy your company." He shrugs looking back at the lake before us.

"Well, I am busy at the moment so if you would leave I would appreciate that very much," I tell him looking away from him, and down at the blank page in my book. I have been here for an hour, and have come up with nothing to write. When I first decided to write a book I had no idea it would be this hard, but I assume that is because I have no inspiration for a story.

Harry doesn't move from his spot even though I told him to leave. Instead, his eyes travel down to the book in my hands and snatch it away from me. "What do we have here?" He looks through the pages to find every single one blank. "Why do you have an empty book?"

"It's only empty because I haven't filled in the pages yet." I snap at him taking back my book. I know it sounds like I was frustrated at him, but I am not, I am frustrated at myself.

"What are you going to fill it with?" He asks turning his whole body towards me, ready to listen to whatever I have to say.

"A story, I'm going to write a book." I shyly look away somehow afraid of his opinion. I haven't told anyone about it yet so it surprises me that I admit it to him, but yet again I find myself trusting him.

"What is the book going to be about?" Is all he asks. Not why, or say that he thinks I can't do it. He only wonders about the book itself. I look at him now with a smile happy that he is interested in what I might write, but then again I remember that I do not have any idea of what it is going to be about.

"I don't know yet."

"Well, that's a good start." He chuckles, and so do I actually finding his sarcasm funny. "What do you find interesting enough to write about?"

Somehow his words make my brain search for anything interesting, but as I look into his eyes my brain stops because I already know what I am going to write about. The answer has been sitting before me, smiling at me. He is the only thing I have found interesting enough to not push away yet. I will write about the lonely boy that searches for a quick moment of love with different girls every night. A boy that is desperate for someone that lasts longer than one moment, but is too scared too even admit it to himself. I will write about Harry Styles hiding behind the name Casanova.

"I know what I will write about now," I inform him with a smile, pleased at myself for finally finding something that I will enjoy writing about.

"Fantastic, what?" He asks clapping his hands together. He moves closer in his seat now very curious as to what my inspiration is.

"That is a secret, but you can have the honor of being the first one to read it when it's done," I tell him as I write down the name of the book on the first page.

"That makes me feel so special." It sounds sarcastic but he has a smile on his face letting me know he actually means what he said. I forget to answer him as I write down chapter one on the next page. "I can see that you are already drawn into your story, so I will be quiet."

I look up at him with a smile of appreciation. I honestly thought he would leave, but he doesn't, he stays. He is quiet as he said he would be, letting me concentrate on my story. I can feel him watch me as I write, but I have nothing against it. I let him watch me as much as he wants as the pencil dance over the pages writing down the draft of my book. I also sometimes write down small notes of what I have come to see as his habits, and words he usually says.

After an hour he disappears, but a half hour he comes back with both food and water making sure I won't stay out here and starve. He is quiet just granting me with his company while I write about the complex boy beside me.