𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑! | harry styles

𝐈

MY feet hurt like a bitch, a product of this morning's hard run on the treadmill. It also doesn't help that I have on heels a couple inches higher than they needed to be.

I check the silver watch on my wrist.

11:30...

When is this dentist going to be ready? I've already been waiting for over an hour. This is ridiculous. I look around. Waiting with me are mothers brining their children for checkups and teenagers lamenting the fact that they have to wear braces.

I run my tongue over the pearly whites inside of my mouth. I do that sometimes when I'm bored, and I'm so bored right now, I do it again.

This is unacceptable.

I stand, tucking the small clutch I'm carrying into the crook of my arm as I walk up to the reception area.

"Excuse me," I say. "I had an appointment at 10:30."

The receptionist was an older woman and clearly overwhelmed with the day's demanding schedule. Pieces of hair fall from her loose ponytail, "I'm so sorry. Dr. Styles had emergency surgery this morning and all of his patients had to be pushed back. We can reschedule if you needed to leave."

She keeps apologizing to me while I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I'm usually not so hostile, but I have to meet my mother today for lunch, and it always puts me in a bad mood. Plus, my cat snuck out of the house, got hit by a car and died this morning, so I'm not at my best.

"Do you know how much longer he will be?" I ask, tempering my voice so that I don't scare the woman with my tone.

Before she can answer, a dental technician opens a door in the corner and yells my name, "Alyssa Wilson."

"I'm here!" I raise my hand like I'm in class and rush towards her, my heels clicking.

The entire office seems to be in an apologetic mood, and the technician says she's sorry for the wait. I wave her off like it's no big deal. But it is a big deal. I'm going to be late to lunch, and I can already hear my mother's voice in my head berating me for making her wait.

I walk down a pristine hallway, following the lady carrying my dental chart. Offices surround us on both sides. I can see dentists of all types working on teeth. Does anyone really enjoy going coming here? I don't.

She leads me to a room and opens the door. "The dentist will be with you in one second, honey. You're a new patient of ours so he'll ask you a few questions before he begins your exam."

"That's fine. Thank you." I sit in the plastic chair that leans back. It's hard to maneuver in my short, navy pencil skirt and crisp button down white shirt, but I manage well enough. I set my clutch on my lap and wait.

Birds are chirping outside. I wish I could hear them better, but the window is shut. I can only imagine how the warm April air must feel. Unfortunately, I have been stuck inside longer that I should have been.

I get mad all over again at the dentist for making me wait.

I cross my legs at the ankles to wait some more. Who does he think he is? I check my watch. So rude. I flip my brown hair over my left shoulder so that it flows down and begin to play with the ends. It's a bad habit, but I'm bored. As I've already said.

I wait some more.

The door opens and Dr. Styles comes in. His name tag is proudly displayed on the front of his white lab coat. He's reading my chart in his hands and has yet to look up. I see that he's tall. Really tall.

My anger dissipates slightly.

He mutters to himself. It intrigues me. What is he saying?

I take him in more. He has a wild hairstyle that I have never seen before. A mixture between bed-head and perfectly gelled. It's a rich brown color.