Roots from the trees go deep within the soil of the earth. Roots within us grow deep within our soul, linking us to our family, our hopes, our dreams.. Our roots lead us to our start.. they lead us to our heart. Sterling King is a girl with deep roots, and long branches that lead to nothing. Harry Styles is a boy with bright leaves, and ever growing colors. EXCERPT: "Hi." "Um... hi." "What's your name?" "Sterling...." "Well... Aren't you going to ask me what mine is?" "No...Why would I do that?" "Because I'm a stranger peaking over the fence... I thought you'd be curious." "Well I'm a stranger sitting in a tree house... I stopped being curious a long time ago. Curiosity brings nothing but trouble." "Well I'm Harry... and I'm curious about you Sterling..." "Well... stop." -------------------------- DO NOT PRINT MY WORK!!! "Roots are not in landscape or a country, or a people, they are inside you." - Isabel Allende • TW: mentions of death, and rape/sexual assault. PTSD.

"You'll never get this done, you know?" The satisfaction was evident in his voice. "You could leave me alone so I can actually get this finished. Or pick up a brush." I gestured to the abundance of supplies I had purchased. "Mmm, no thanks. Don't really have my painting clothes on." My smirk reappeared and I turned fully to face him. "That's a real shame," I cocked my head to the side and fake pouted before pointing in his direction, "the door frame is wet." His body shot off the door frame he had been leaning against and he looked over his shoulder to see the line of white paint trailing down his presumably expensive coat. "Have a great rest of your day, Mr Styles." I flicked my hands in a 'go away' gesture before sliding the door closed behind him. **** TW: This story contains mentions/descriptions of physical/emotional/sexual abuse, coarse language and mature content. HIGHEST RANKINGS: No.3 #HarryStyles No.1 #HarryStylesFanfic No.6 #Friendships No.1 #HarryEdwardStyles No.1 #Soft No.1 #hs No.1 #1D No.1 #alternateuniverse No.1 #slowburn

Don't you call her baby. We're not talking lately. Don't you call her what you used to call me... A story in which a girl who writes songs falls in love with the boy who sings them. "Color...What a deep and mysterious language, the language of dreams." - Paul Gauguin. DO NOT PRINT MY BOOKS! *TW: story contains mature topics such as mental abuse, PTSD, minor drug usage, and minor sexual content.*