destined. | h.s

3. brown bag

Ariella’s P.O.V

If squeaking slash fangirling was illegal I probably am in the prison right now. I don’t know the chills you get when you just got hold of just a possession a world famous member of a band was really going to take effect on you. And trying to hide it was the understatement.

In my hands I held the brown bag, which we all assume was really owned by Harry. We we’re trying to take it easy not react too much so that ‘we get to own Harry even just for a minute’.

“We’ll leave you guys here; we don’t really want to meet them.” A guy from our choir, the one who hates awesome people, of course left us and went to search for our hotel. I couldn’t imagine myself being uninterested meeting famous people.

“Wait, how will we know where’s the hotel?”

“Text and calls.”

“Announcement, lost and found, bag. If you found a misplaced bag please proceed to the very important person’s lobby. Thank you.” A woman announces.

Well, I guess, she was referring to the bag I have. I pat the bag once more and jokingly whispered, “You’re going back to your own, mister brown leather bag.”

We needed to ask a few people where the lobby is since, we’re new here at Heathrow airport and we almost got lost, when another guy pointed to the opposite direction. Still w managed to reach the area successfully.

So here we are in front of the lobby, with a thick transparent glass separating the crowd from “V.I.P’s”. Weird because you wanted them to stay away from the crowd but then you have a see-through glass, which can attract people, and real enough there are some teenagers peeking through the glass, some taking pictures.

As I approach the door, I got some stares which seemed to say, “Who are you to go in there?” but lucky enough I know how to just ignore it. Then there, a man with face covered with his palms, white shirt wrapped around his body, and skinny ripped jeans. No wonder that would be Harry, you can see it in his clothes, and hair. He looked so depress, is this how important the bag to him is?

I could only guess.

“Miss, what can I do for you?” A guy, probably, the security guard asked me.

“I, um, have a bag I found in a plane, and I heard the announcement, so this might be his.” Welp how was I able to gather all of this confidence? But then, I feel some escape when the ‘security guard’ ‘examined’ me from head to toe like I am some criminal.

“Okay, uh, you may come in.” He allows me. I just nodded.

And there goes my heart pounding out of my chest with Harry in front. He still had his hands on his face. I was about to open my mouth when he started speaking, “If you’re gonna bring me home, sorry, no I’m still waiting for the bag.”

“I, uh, actually, er, ha-have y-your bag.” With that, his eyes shut to mine and stood up hugging me with what they say as one of his bone crashing hugs. And I’m pretty sure he can feel my heart beat.

“I-i, sorry about what I said a while ago.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” We both just awkwardly stared at each other a tingly feeling creeping to my whole body. “I-is this your b-bag?” And I broke it.

“Uh, yeah, yeah. Thank you.” I hand him the bag. “I, er gotta go. Bye.” I suddenly blurted out and exited the lobby. I started cursing myself for just leaving it all hanging.

“You have no plans to prolong the conversation, when you can and should have.” Abi scolds me.

“I know, don’t make me feel guilty.”

“Wait, wait.” A raspy, British accent from the back made me look back. “Do you have something to do today?”

“I guess you shouldn’t” Abi then continues our paused conversation and I gave her a glare.

“No, we just arrived for the choir competition which is next week.” I replied to Harry.

“Oh, where are you from?”

“Philippines.” I smiled back.

Harry’s P.O.V

“Do you want to hang out, you know, a little thank you?” Woah, was I asking her for a little friendly date? Well, I was really looking forward to invite whoever returns my bag, so maybe not a date, just a thank you hang out.

“Of course, but can I my friends come?”

“Yes.” I nod.

“By the way, what are your names?”

“I’m Ariella Cassandra Mendez, she’s Abigaile Borjal, that’s Debora Fortalejo, and this is Claire Montier.” She lets me know pointing to each one of them.

“Okay, let’s go.”

If I may say, never have I met a girl who I felt so close to me already even though we just met minutes ago. It felt like we had some connections. She reminds me of somebody . . . of my best friend. But maybe it’s just her attitude, or her facial features that seemed to be alike hers. Or maybe I am overthinking.

We headed towards my car that had been stuck here for about three days already. Three days of waiting for this bag to come back with every hope sliced into pieces. If that was called reacting too much for just a bag, well not for me. Something felt so weird that just loosing that bag was giving me depression. Three days ago when I arrived from Japan, that’s when I realized how important this is. It had my wallet, my wallet with her only picture and ours.

And yes, I saw her last back when I was seven. Mom, never bragged about her or her family, I was such a coward to bring it up since I don’t like being teased by my sister, “You like her?” or “Little Hawwy has a crush.” It gets to my nerves sometimes. So all I know is our memories; roller coaster ride, swimming, exchanges of photos, a little sit in the bench in the park in Manchester and then I cried when she left.

Anyway, we reached the car after some fans asked for selfies, which have taken about thirty minutes. They all headed towards the back seats, and of course I know they wouldn’t fit in there, or maybe yes, since there all petite but I still did ask for Ariella to sit in the front.

I just tried to play it all cool, “I’m pretty sure you all are not going to fit in there, there still space in front.”

“I, uh, okay fine.” She hesitated but then still agreed.