Sunflower Café

18

–H

"Harry Edward Styles!"

     A female voice rang through the café, scaring him half to death and making him cower back in his seat after recognizing it. He slid down the chair until his head was the only visible part of his body above the table as he tried to use the plants surrounding him like shields. The feeble attempt was pitiful though—it was useless, she'd already seen him.

     "Don't try to hide from me, Harry. I can see you, you know." The woman's composure screamed scolding mother as her face dripped with anger while her right foot tapped dangerously against the hardwood floor.

     "Sarah," he chuckled nervously as he settled back up. He tried to play it cool, "Long time no see, buddy. How've you been?"

     "Cut the crap, Styles," she moved to sit before him, resting her folded arms on the table and leaning closer to him menacingly while pointing an accusing finger. "You know why I'm here. So start talking. Now."

     "I–I-" he avoided her eyes, his own staring down at his food as he played with it. "I dunno what you mean."

     "Harry..." she warned.

     He sighed defeated, "Listen, I understand why you're here—and I know that you're just trying to help—but I don't think this is something that really concerns you, Sarah."

     "It does when it comes to my boyfriend and his happiness," she snapped.

     Harry flinched at her clipped tone—she'd never spoken to him like that before. Yet again, he'd never done anything to deserve it before. Until now.

     "Harry," she bagan more calmly than before. "What happened between you and Mitch? Why have you been avoiding him? Is it because of that girl you're stalking? Beca-"

     "I'm not stalking anybody," he interjected. "And I'm not pushing Mitchell away. He was the one acting all overprotective of me. He knows I don't like that shit."

"He has good reason, Harry," Sarah tried to maintain her soft voice, but it was obvious she was bursting to slap some sense into him.

"Oh yeah? And what's that? Apart from his stupid theories that she's fucked up in the head that is." Harry's face was hard as stone, his eyes challenging as if ready to refute anything that escaped his friend's mouth.

Sarah flinched, no doubt knowing what Harry was referring to. "He's never said that. And you know it."

"Not explicitly," he leaned forward and mirrored her stance on the table. "But we all know he's thinking it. It doesn't take an expert to decode it after he compared her with Ray."

"I–I didn't know he did that, H," she sighed. "But I'm sure he didn't mean it th-"

Harry rolled his eyes, "Oh cut the crap, Sarah. You know he did. He thinks she's some damaged charity case I'm desperate to fix."

"But Harry..." Sarah looked at him sadly before speaking cautiously, "You can't deny you have a track record in that department. You're a very compassionate guy. And with that comes your background in trying to fix those who need to fix themselves."

He buried his face in his hands causing his words to come out mumbled, "Not you too!"

"Listen, H," Sarah tugged his hands down and held them in hers. "I'm not saying the girl is-"

"Amaya," he cut in, earning a questioning look from his friend. He cleared, "Her name's Amaya."

"Oh, well... I'm not saying Amaya is broken, Harry—I'm in no ways supporting that. What I am saying is that I see—and I know you do as well—where Mitch is coming from. I know you understand that our worry isn't coming from an irrational place, but from a place of caring, and knowing. We don't want to see you suffer again, Harry. Not as terribly as last time. You barely managed to compose yourself a few months ago–hell! You're still putting the pieces together."