Slow Motion

Chapter 3: Changes

"It's nice to feel this small."

He watched her as she leaned forward from the bench they sat on. Her hair had been tied up after a few wrestles with the wind. She had an ethereal sense to her as strands escaped to whisper against her cheeks. Her eyes were set on the city in front of them. A place she had called home, and one he had made a home out of. A city that was quite ugly in most parts and charming in others. Always busy, always alive.

"It's easy to feel small when you're surrounded by loads of people," he replied as he leaned back. "I'm not sure if I actually like it."

"Why's that?" She turned his attention towards him, tucking her stray hair behind her ears.

"I think once you've felt small for a long time, you miss feeling seen."

"On stage? Surrounded by thousands of people, and you don't feel seen?" her eyebrow raised in questioning and he found the small movement amusing. She always had so many questions.

"It's not quite like that," he sighed and turned his head towards the view that held her attention just moments ago. "I'm seen in a very public way. Comes with the fame."

"Oh, how tragic," she replied playfully, earning an amused chuckle on his end. She smiled briefly before a dangerously calm tone set into her voice. "I get it. It's one thing to be seen, and another to be known."

Harry stared at her in silence. She spoke so freely, poetically even, without hesitance in her words. He had met many beautiful people in his life, many of them artists or people of unequivocal talents, but none had ever struck him as sincere as she did.

"Yeah, exactly."

"Is it time for you to go back home?"

"Tomorrow morning. First flight out," he replied with a short nod. "Off to see my mum and sister on holiday."

"Tell them I send my love," she grinned, "although they won't know who the hell I am."

Harry laughed at the idea of telling his mother that a girl he had met in California was sending her love. It would undoubtedly end up with him being interrogated, especially by his sister. It wasn't often that Harry mentioned anyone special in his life. His reservations about that were widely known, even in the public sphere.

She had certainly earned a spot in his heart with her intellect and humor. The late-night phone calls they shared weren't so bad either.

"You know, even after all these weeks, I don't know much about you," he commented. He had given it more thought the night before and realized that while he knew all her likes, dislikes, hobbies and favorites, he still wasn't sure what she actually did for a living. She claimed to be a writer but hadn't shared any writing. Harry knew she had to have money of some sort to live where she did. He thought about running a google search, but his own reservations about privacy stopped him from doing so.

"You know what matters," she replied softly, leaning against the bench and looking at him with tender eyes. "I've told you my dreams, my values-"

"You want to become a best selling author."

"Yes," she smiled, "maybe you'll star in the movie when they turn my book into a big Oscar-worthy film."

"Maybe."

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"I'll miss you."

"Likewise, darling."

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"Harry?"

"Mmm?" he didn't look up from the book in his hand. Fitzgerald always gave him an escape from the world around him, and he had lost his way in his words an hour ago.