°• 𝙰𝙻𝙱𝚄𝙼 𝙰𝚁𝚃 •°[ 𝚣𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 ]

We fell in love in October 🍁

ZAYN

"Smoking cigarettes on the roof
You look so pretty and I love this view

We fell in love in October
That's why I love fall
Looking at the stars
Admiring from a far"
We'd been working on the project for about a month and a half by now—six weeks of sketches, revisions, coffee-fueled brainstorming sessions, and the quiet, buzzing thrill of working on something massive. The deadlines were relentless, the stakes were high, and while the pressure was definitely real, I couldn't deny that it was also exhilarating.

Still, by the time I finally made it home that night, it was well past reasonable visiting hours. I was running on fumes, dragging my bag behind me like it weighed a hundred pounds, expecting nothing more than to collapse into bed and dissolve into sleep. So, when I opened my front door and saw someone sitting on my couch, legs stretched out, lazily flicking through the TV channels like they lived there—my heart just about launched out of my chest.

"Jesus, Joe," I exhaled, half-spooked, half-relieved, pressing a hand to my chest.

He looked up and grinned like the absolute menace he is. "Missed you too, babe."

Despite the initial jolt of panic, seeing my boyfriend of three years sprawled across the sofa was one of the warmest, most welcome surprises I could've asked for. I didn't hesitate—I crossed the room and folded myself into his arms, letting the exhaustion pour out of me in waves. He held me tightly, murmuring something soft against my hair, and before I could make any excuse about finishing up emails or replying to messages, he gently steered me toward the bedroom.

I let him.

He helped me out of my day, quite literally—untangling me from my jacket and shoes, brushing my hair back, leading me to bed. We curled up under the covers like muscle memory, my body fitting perfectly against his, and I was out before I could even mutter a goodnight.

⸻

**~ The Next Morning ~**

There's a particular kind of peace in waking up to the smell of blueberry pancakes. It's comforting, nostalgic, and a top-tier sensory experience—especially when it's paired with the low hum of a radio and the morning sun spilling lazily across the kitchen tiles.

I blinked myself awake, stretched with the delicious ache of someone who'd actually slept, and padded barefoot into the kitchen, following the scent. The light in the room was soft and golden, filtering through the windows and making everything feel like a scene from a rom-com. And there, standing by the stove, flipping pancakes like he belonged in a cooking show, was Joe.

My angel.

He glanced over his shoulder when he heard me, smiling that sleepy, scruffy smile that made my chest tighten in all the best ways.

"Mornin', handsome," he said, sliding a plate onto the counter for me.

We sat at the kitchen island, just the two of us, catching up between bites of buttery, syrup-drenched pancakes. There was no rush. For the first time in weeks, I wasn't sprinting out the door at the crack of dawn. I'd decided to give myself a later start—nothing drastic, just a soft, indulgent 8:45 arrival instead of the usual mad-dash-for-8. I was entitled to that. Office hours didn't officially begin until 9, and after weeks of burning the candle at both ends, I deserved the grace.

We talked about everything and nothing. The stupid YouTube comments on his last video. My growing pile of design drafts. The way we'd been ships passing in the night lately, barely getting real time together. We made up for it a little—with cuddles, laughter, and, okay, maybe a little bit of late-morning making out.

By the time I walked into the Columbia office, it was 8:40 a.m., and I felt—miraculously—alive. Not just functioning. Glowing.

I had a ridiculous grin on my face that I couldn't shake, and for once, I didn't care how obvious it was. Because here's the thing: life was good. Objectively good. I had the job I'd dreamed of since uni—designing album art, posters, visuals for one of the biggest artists in the world. I had a boyfriend I adored, who made pancakes and held me when I was too tired to hold myself. I had a home filled with warmth, and somehow, I'd built a life that felt like mine. Really, truly mine.

I stepped into the design studio, the buzz of productivity just starting to hum. The early morning quiet gave me a few precious minutes to set up. I placed my tea down, shrugged off my bag, and began laying out my sketches for the day.

Then I heard the flush of the employee bathroom.

Didn't think much of it—anyone on the team could've been in early. But when the door swung open, out walked Harry Styles.

Okay. Not what I was expecting.

He looked freshly showered, somehow already glowing at this ungodly hour in a slightly unbuttoned blue shirt and soft beige trousers. Hair a bit messy, like he'd let it dry naturally. Casual, effortless, devastating.

"Hello," I managed, my voice sounding a bit too airy for my liking.

He smiled and made his way over to where I was seated. Sat down in the chair next to mine like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Did you sleep alright?" he asked, eyes crinkling a little at the corners.

I was still in such a good mood from the morning—overflowing with the kind of soft joy that makes you a little bit braver—that I actually answered in detail. I told him about Joe showing up unexpectedly. About the pancakes. The quiet morning.

His expression was unreadable, but he watched me carefully as I rambled, nodding occasionally, a small smile playing at his lips.

When I finally trailed off, realising I might've been going on too long, he tilted his head slightly and said, "So... a boyfriend?"

I nodded, cheeks heating just a little. "Yeah, Joe. He's a content creator—YouTube stuff, mostly. We met a couple of years ago at an art event, actually. Bonded over mutual obsession with linework and visual storytelling."

"Sounds like a good match," Harry said softly.

"He's brilliant," I replied, smiling without even thinking about it.

Harry nodded again, that smile still on his face, and glanced down at the colour swatches I'd been sorting through. I couldn't tell if he was studying them or just giving me a moment to recover from my own embarrassing enthusiasm.

Gradually, the rest of the design team started to trickle in—murmured greetings, clinking mugs, laptops waking up. As the room filled with sound and movement, Harry rose from his chair with the same quiet ease he'd entered with.

"See you in the next check-in," he said, voice low and smooth, and with that, he made his way out of the studio.

Not a dramatic exit. Not particularly mysterious. But still...

I couldn't help but wonder why he'd been there so early. Why he'd sought me out for a conversation before anyone else had arrived.

But then again, maybe it meant nothing. Maybe I was reading into things.

Still, as I turned back to my work and tried to refocus, I could feel a flicker of something new in my chest.

Curiosity.

Or maybe... possibility.