Sweet | h.s.

thirty five

Beverly

His words echo rapidly through my mind.

I love you, Bev.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

It's engrained there instantly. His hand feels warm in mine, and he smiles nervously, awaiting my response. I know my silence is stressing him out, but I'm in shock, and that was the last thing I expected tonight. I know I need to respond, to say something, to speak, but I feel frozen underneath his stare, his eyes so vibrant and beautiful, but filled with anxiety and worry that only grows the longer I take.

"What?" This is all I can muster up the courage to speak.

Really, Beverly?

I have never been in love with anyone else but my ex. I have never had anyone tell me they loved me but him, my family, my friends, and one boy from college after we slept together one night. But I knew it was false then. Meaningless, in the moment, muttered words from a boy who's frontal lobe wasn't even developed yet.

But the way Harry is looking at me now, I know he means every word. I know he wouldn't tell me that if he didn't mean it. He clears his throat awkwardly, retracting his hand from mine. The whole exchange up until now only takes a few seconds, but it feels like it's dragged on for minutes.

I take a moment to think about his words, about the weight of them. I think about every single feeling I've had with him from the moment we met, to now. How my despise quickly turned into curiosity, which then spiraled into him occupying my every thought.

I thought about how it felt kissing him, seeing him, having him show up in Milan. I thought about the comfort I feel around him, the way his words of affirmation makes me glow on the inside, and how his touch feels electric to me.

I never imagined that one day Harry Styles would confess his love for me, and I never imagined I would fall in love with him back. But then I realize, without a doubt, that I do love him. That my entire heart belongs to him, and as scary as this is, it also feels surreal. Amazing, even.

I've known it all along, from the moment he showed up at my hotel door in Milan, that I loved him. This entire experience has been an absolute dream. But the time it takes me to gather these thoughts has him second guessing himself.

"I just - er - " He stutters.

"Harry," I interrupt, wanting to break the tension. I smile gently, reaching back for his hand. Hesitantly, he lays it in mine. "I love you too." I say, looking into his eyes with what I hope is an intensity that allows him to feel it.

In half a second, he smiles again, his shoulders dropping from a tense position I didn't realize he was holding.

"I do." I tell him. "I've known it from the moment you surprised me at my hotel. I love you."

At this point, he's beaming with joy as he brings the back of my hand up to his lips.

"I love you. I didn't really need to hear you say it, especially if you didn't feel it yet, but I just needed to tell you, and I promise I wouldn't have been upset. It just would've been - "

"Awkward, I know." I laugh, and he relaxes his expression.

"I'm glad you feel the same, though." He says.

"How can I not? With this entire day, even if I didn't feel it earlier, I would've absolutely felt it now." I joke, and he laughs along with me.

The rest of the dinner is so lovely and we're acting like giddy teenagers in love, which is half true. The only difference being that we're actually giddy adults in love.