Love Me Harder (Harry Styles)

Chapter 5

Recap:

With those thoughts rattling around in my head, I got into my car and made the journey back to my house, where I spent the night laying in bed, starring at the ceiling. The only thing clouding my memory; the boy with unruly brown, curly hair and a smile that could melt your heart.

Harry's POV:

Aimlessly scrolling through my endless Twitter feed is what my Friday afternoon consisted of. The life of a pop star is definitely a party if you couldn't tell. After having lunch with Ava earlier this week, my life has pretty much been boring, aside from the one night Niall called me because he was absolutely piss drunk by himself and asked me to come over. I'll tell ya, I did have a good laugh at him, but kindly declined his offer to stay in with my own company instead. Good thing he didn't take it too hard, would've been tragic.

I was getting sick of the consistent buzz that my phone gave off while I was on Twitter and decided to call it quits with Twitter for know. I got up from the couch that was expertly positioned right in front of the flatscreen to have the best view of it , and went to the cupboard to grab a glass. I filled the glass with a bit of water and slowly wondered back to my room and took a seat lying down on the bed. Just as my head hit the pillow my phone went off, "probably Niall drunk again", I thought to myself as I picked up my phone and unlocked it, getting into a comfortable position. It wasn't Niall, but a reminder. One reminder for a huge fashion show that I was to be attending for press and one that I should be getting on to the private jet for in two hours. Wait what? Two hours? TWO HOURS? Shit. I've totally forgotten. As soon as my mind had processed this information, I sprung from the bed and ran into my closet looking for my black suitcase. I quickly drug it out, threw it on top of my bed, and began scrambling through my room for clothes that I hurriedly shoved into it.

Once I had successfully finished that stressful packing experience, I called the agency to send a car over to the flat to pick me up and take me to the airport so I wouldn't have to leave my car at the airport and have the risk of my car being damaged or better yet stolen. I'd rather take precautions.

I had just arrived at the airport and stepped out of the car when it all happened again. The sound was electrifying, but not in a good way. In a way that almost paralyzes you to the point where you feel constricted, that you can't physically move because there are so many people hollering at you, screaming your name, and taking pictures of you that you can't even focus on one thing. Your mind is literally in 1000 places at once and you can't control it. One of my men, Ben, try their best to, but it's hard for them to control all of our dedicated fans, it is. And I'll be forever thankful for them and what they do for me everyday.

Ben is pulling me through this treacherous crowd and into the sliding glass doors of the airport and it all stops. Peace. Quiet. I can finally take a breath and get a hold of myself again, after all I had a plane to catch and I would not be missing out on this fashion show. Come to think of it, whose designs is this fashion show even displaying? I take out my iPhone 6, in my curious state, from my back pocket and click on Safari app and type in London Fashion Show, December 6th, 2014 into the search bar and patiently wait for the results to load. The first one that pops up I click on it and wait yet again. In big black letters the name "RACHEL RICHARDS" is displayed at the top of the page with a picture of the middle aged fashion designer. She looks to be in her mid forties with dirty blondish- brown hair and beside the designers picture is another. I click on the photo to enlarge it enough so I'm able to see it clearly and you would never guess who it was. The girl from the cafe, Ava. There, on my screen, is a picture of Ava in a little white number posing for a picture at a previous fashion show of her mothers. I can't believe she didn't tell me that her mother was a world renounced fashion designer? Why not? I mean that is kind of a big thing to not mention. Wow. What a hypocrite you are Harry, my subconscious scolds. And this time he's right. I didn't even mention to Ava who I was and now I'm right here complaining how she never told me who her MOM was, her mom, not even herself. I hadn't even told her the truth about myself. I felt a wave of guilt wash onto me for not mentioning who I was to her, only to be reminded that she was in fact intending the fashion show tomorrow as was I, and I had full intentions of telling her exactly who I am tomorrow. Telling her face to face because it would just feel better and be better that way.

If this was fates way of setting us up to meet again, which I'm desperately hoping it was, I was welcoming it with open arms. Until then Ava. xxx