Illicit [Harry Styles]

Epilogue

I gazed at myself in the mirror almost in awe as I added the finishing touches to my outfit, putting in my hoop earrings and straightening my crimson dress underneath the dark robe proudly. I placed the black cap carefully on my head, trying to avoid messing up my plaited hair and sliding a couple of hair grips in to keep it firmly in place. I smiled a small smile at myself - I couldn't believe I had come this far, today was the day.

Today was graduation. 

I had finally reached the end of this very exciting journey and was graduating from Cardiff University with a 2:1 in Criminology, and I felt as though a new chapter of my life was beginning. As one door closes another one opens, or so they say. 

Uni was tough on me, I struggled immensely at times, and had the best time of my life at others. It was crazy moving to a new city all on my own over a hundred miles away from my home, I didn't know anyone and it was the first time I was living alone and having to fend for myself. It was such hard work and I really had to pick myself up and get motivated after falling into a rut more than once, but overall I'd had one of the best experiences of my life to date and was so glad I'd done it. 

I didn't get on with any of my flatmates in the student accommodation I was placed in during my first year, but luckily I had met Ruby and we got on like a house on fire. We were complete opposites but we'd ended up being so close and moving in together in our second year in a beautiful old house just outside the city and Cardiff now felt like home.

Ruby waltzed into my room and smirked at me admiring myself with such confidence. "I'd never thought I'd see the day."

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?"

"The day I'd catch you looking at yourself like someone you were proud of, I mean. You've come so far, Jess, it's amazing!"

I blushed and rolled my eyes in embarrassment, but she was right. When I'd first arrived in Wales I was a wreck - I'd only just managed to push myself to do well enough in my A Levels to get in, and at a cost, but I was shy and emotionally unstable and so anxious about the new environment I was dropped off and left in by my family who hadn't put enough time on the parking meter to stay long enough to help me unpack in my small dorm room. Having just lost the love of my life, I had to learn to build myself back up and carry on with my life and I had to do it quickly. I would have been eaten alive if I hadn't plucked up the courage to get over everything that had happened and see university as a fresh new beginning and an opportunity to flourish.

In my first term I got myself a job at a coffee shop before I'd even relocated so I could be able to afford to get the train back every weekend to see Harry. I'd study and do all my work on the journey back and spend as long as I was allowed to just talking to him. During my break I went home and stayed with my mum, visiting him every single day I was there.

Although, as time went on I became more and more busy; I had so much to focus on, so many new relationships and experiences, new responsibilities and so much outside of uni to do, to the point where I didn't find myself with much spare time. As I didn't have much time to go and see him anymore he'd use his weekly phone call to speak to me for as long as he could until he was being physically pulled away from the phone and the line went dead. 

The less I saw him the less he was in my thoughts. It sounds terrible. Don't get me wrong, I never stopped loving him and I never will, but life got in the way and I had no choice but to move on. No one wants to engage with someone that's moping about their problems and past life while at university - a new opportunity to reinvent yourself and find out who you really are.

As we started to lose contact, every week I would receive a drawing in the post. A unique and beautifully hand drawn sketch, different every time but equally as exquisite. The drawings made me cry. The first few touched my heart and made me feel warm inside, connected to him in a way we hadn't been in so long. I'd smile and hold the envelope close to my heart, folding it back up carefully and tucking it into a book on my shelf for safe keeping. But eventually they started breaking me. Each one reminded me of him and made me feel guilty for not being there. I could tell he'd put his whole heart and soul into each work of art and I was giving him nothing in return. I broke down and sobbed in the shower for over an hour when it dawned on me. By the end of year one I had twenty letters that I hadn't opened, stuffed under my bed in an attempt to forget they were there.