DUNKIRK | HARRY STYLES

[Scene Twenty-One]

The days sped by alarmingly fast until the premiere had suddenly arrived, like waiting for spring and realising it was summer.

I woke up the morning of with a nauseous feeling in my stomach and a tight tension headache between my eyebrows. Every thought of Harry caused my stomach to clench, threatening to spill the contents inside of it.

All possible outcomes of seeing him again ran through my head constantly, like a roll of film. He rejects me, he humiliated me, he hurts me.

He still loves me.

That option was the one I tried to repress the most, simply because I refused to get my hopes up. It had been six months- Harry had forgotten all about me.

I was sat at the breakfast table, listlessly stirring my cereal, feeling too ill to eat when a thought struck me. For the past week I'd been so wrapped up in worries that I'd forgotten that premieres involved dresses. Dresses that I didn't have.

I looked up from my breakfast, absolute panic written all over my face. Dad replied with a wary look from over his newspaper.

"What is it?" He asked hesitantly. For the past week I'd been a very... temperamental house guest, easily set off by the slightest mention of anything linked to Harry. Beaches, films, news about his upcoming album. They'd all triggered crying fits that could last for hours as I lamented what I'd lost.

"I don't have a dress for tonight," I said, each word getting shriller and shriller. "What on earth am I going to do? The premiere starts in a few hours. I have no time to go get one and I'm going to turn up looking awful while Harry brings a stunning model or something. Oh God. He's going to wonder what he ever saw in me."

Dad slowly closed his newspaper, folding over the ink-stained pages like we had all the time in the world. He'd always been like that- calm, collected. It was part of the reason he'd become so successful at his job.

I waited for him to solve the situation like he always did, remedying the problem with something so simple I would always wonder how come I'd not thought of it.

"I'll call my stylist, see what she can do." He said, taking a slow sip of tea. "To be honest, I think she'll jump at the chance of dressing someone more fashion forward than me."

"Okay," I breathed out the air I'd been holding in and sent a smile to Dad. "Thank you."

"Don't worry India. Harry won't be able to resist you tonight."

//

Dad had mentioned a stylist but he hadn't mentioned the full on glam team that had arrived on his doorstep, laden with hairdryers and makeup. I looked at them, my mouth agape with surprise until one of them chipped in, "You ever gonna let us in, love?"

"O-Of course," I stuttered, widening the door to allow them through. "I just wasn't expecting so many of you."

"Well, we're here love and trust me, after we're done with you, you'll look fuckin' fabulous," One of them said, the woman who looked a little older and more in charge than the others.

They started to lay out all their equipment on the coffee table in the living room. Straighteners, huge curling irons- things that looked more like weapons than beauty tools. 

"Why don't you get in the shower while we get set up here?" Another woman said, who was laying out dress bags on the sofa. Once I peered at her tag, I saw her name was Jo.