21 Directions

Chapter Eighteen

{Jasmine POV}

I quickly jerk away from Harry's face, alarmed by our accidental contact. 

"Uh, sorry. My fault..." I squeak, shuffling back to my seat and completely ignoring his eyes. Silence fills us for a few moments, and I give in and sneak a look at him. Harry's face cracks into a grin and my uneasiness steps down a bit.

"Well, I'd have to say, Jasmine... that wasn't too bad." He slowly dips the tops of his fingertips in the spilled water on the table. Considering I basically just kissed him- involuntarily, that is... even though I wouldn't have passed up the chance- he was acting pretty neutrally.

"Um, but I didn't mean to-" He hushes me, pressing a finger to my lips. They part slightly under the pressure, and I stare at him, wondering what his next move might be.

"It appears that the intruding particle on your face has finally decided to leave," he says, bringing up the matter of how we got in this situation in the first place. I exhale. Part of me is relieved because of the fact that he didn't do anything more, but the other part of me still yearns for what that could have turned into.

"Hah, very funny." I roll my eyes.

"So I take it that you, Jasmine, know a lot about me. You've proved that already, seeing as you're here. With me. But, I hardly know anything about you." He has a very valid point. To be honest, if I was him, and the choice was up to me, the two girls that had turned up at the house wouldn't have been staying as long as Emma and I have stayed up to this point.

"Well, if you want me to start from the beginning..." I offer, glad to be off the subject of our previous situation.

"Please." Harry answers, cupping his chin in his hands and looking as freaking adorable as ever.

As I proceed to tell him my background and my preferences and all the things I would like him to know, all of the things I think a person would want Harry to know, I forget about myself and focus on him. How many people are there in the world who would want to be in this exact situation? Not just taking a hasty picture with him or getting a tweet from him, but having an honest conversation? I stop talking.

"You know what the sad thing is?" I say, more to myself than to him. He cocks an eyebrow.

"I know so much about you... which must be totally weird and creepy for you... but all of that knowledge kind of blinds me when I try to talk to you face to face." I tell him, "I feel like I can't appreciate the real Harry, because I only know the world-famous boy band member. When I look at you cooking, in the kitchen, I see that video that I watched of you cooking on the X-Factor. When I see you laughing with the other guys, I remember all of your laughter in the video diaries.

I pause. "But isn't that weird? How I have all of these memories of you and your life, when I was never actually a part of them? I feel like I can't... make new memories with you, because I'm comparing them to all the other memories that you've had, with people who aren't... me."

"Wow, I didn't expect that idea to come out of that pea brain of yours," he teases.

"Harry, I'm serious."

"Hi Serious, I'm Harry."

"Why did you take up a career in singing if you could've been such a great comedian?" I say, mocking his terrible humor.

"Don't you know why, since you claim to know so much about me, Miss Not-So-Pea-Brain?"

"No one could possibly know all of the mysteries of Harry Styles, could they? Of course not." 

"Not even Miss Super-Stalker and her sidekick, who sneaked into our house through a suitcase, huh?"

"Hey, not cool. We didn't even mean to end up here. You know that." I counter, slightly offended. I lean back in my chair, watching dancers on the dance floor. I cross my arms over my chest and try to clear my mind.