destined. | h.s

21. you?

Harry’s P.O.V

I ended up not sleeping in the minivan Robin is driving to Worcestershire, yes to Worcestershire. Just ten minutes before we got to this point, Mom enlightened my Christmas by notifying us that will be having a surprise trip back to where I spent my first six years of existence.

And guess who we’ll be seeing soon when we pull in the place . . . her.

I got the back seat for my own, so I thought it’d be a convenient place for me to take a happy night sleep, but it was better now, to picture what was to actually happen for tomorrow.

I wonder if she still looks the same?

How long is her hair now?

Is she the same high-pitched girl?

Would she remember me? Or us?

Did she change?

I can barely kill the time passing, hanging on is not my nature. But I had no choice anyway, so maybe, I’ll linger for a while.

And for no certain reason, I had my phone on top of me as my time checker a.k.a the clock.

1:61

I am slowly drifting to sleep, but the thought of getting together soon sort of brought me back to consciousness. I plugged in my earphones and blasted acoustics and instrumentals–some of which I download for a while but only listened to it today–and to tell you, supposedly, I had this high expectation for slow music to work but it had me more alive instead.

One song said, “Who is the chosen, between both of these two.” I had no idea what the song was, but it reminded me of Ariella and the still unknown best pal. Things began levelling up between me and Ari, but flashbacks of me promising to search for her, to marry her sort of left me with a blur.

If she is seeing someone then things might just be fine, somehow.

Pft, maybe I should try to calm my brain down and just put myself into the good mood for tomorrow. But again, a choice does not have to come so suddenly but when it does, everything tends to fall out of the picture and seldom perfect.

Of course, me trying to force that out of the head, I decided to think about what I will be wearing later, because when Mom announced about that, almost right after, she added it will be a little formal.

It runs on the generation that every 25th of December, we’ll be in our tuxes and dresses, inviting the neighbouring family or somebody close to us. I could not promise to do that on my family someday, though, because I always thought of being bashful about having to like tell somebody “Hey, we have a little dinner at home, but you have to dress up, though.”

In the course of me playing these songs whether from 80s or unknown, my phone began ringing on top of me. And I sort of breathed out in irritation realizing it was Mr. Roberts’ assistant, Meredith. I swear, if she wasn’t a girl or her name wasn’t merry–see what I did there–I could have ended up most of her calls or punched a wall or something.

I pressed answer after having no options and she kind of breathed at the start and said, “I’m very sorry to have called you at this moment, but, Big Ben on 31st of December with Rebecca.”

Sigh, “Another New Years’ illusion for the eyes of people, yeah, I know that.”

“Harry, that is why I added sorry, okay, you know how much the earnings matter to me, right?” She said, patiently.

“I know, but sometimes it gets too exhausting acting like a remote controlled bot.”

“Yeah, I wish I could make a move without it having to alter my own personal life, though.”