regrets ⇝ hs

xi. madrid

"So tell me about yourself," Harry broke the sweet silence of the car, making me sigh quietly.

"What do you want to know?" I replied and raised an eyebrow. "I don't live a very interesting life."

"I beg to differ. You came to France alone for a reason you have yet to tell me and got yourself a job as a drug dealer in a matter of, what? 24 hours?" I had turned my head back towards the road by the time Harry had started speaking, but I did not need to be looking at him to know there was a smirk on his lips.

"More like two hours. And none of that information is of your business," I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Can I at least ask why you flew to Paris with nothing but a small purse?"

My cheeks turned a rosy red color as embarrassment filled my body. "I...I didn't. My bags were lost at the airport," I mumbled.

Harry snickered softly, only causing my annoyance level to rise with the curly haired boy.

"You know, you're definitely," Harry paused, almost as if searching for the proper word, "something," he finished as he turned the radio on, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel along to the low beat of the bass playing through the speakers.

"Thank you?" I muttered, though it came out as more of a question rather than a sincere thanks.

"It's a good thing," Harry responded, seemingly still pondering over the word that would fit the sentence he had begun. "You're Something with a capital S," he finally stated with a nod.

I snickered and looked at Harry. "Have you just recently read The Fault In Our Stars?" I questioned and quirked an eyebrow up curiously.

"Not recently, no," Harry replied and shook his head, his eyes trained on nothing but the empty road before them. "Quite a long time ago."

"So you're a fan of reading?" Harry didn't strike me as the type to be fond of such an activity, but then again, Harry was a man of many surprises, apparently.

"Very much so," he hummed in response. And when I asked his favorite book, his response was even more shocking then anything he had ever told me: "Most definitely Emma by Jane Austen."

My eyes grew wide as I took in the information. Such a sophisticated novel and a boy like Harry did not add up in my mind.

"You read too?" Harry wondered aloud, emitting a shrug from me.

"I do occasionally, but I'm more of a writer, actually," I informed Harry.

"Have you ever written anything?"

"A few poems here and there, and I've always wanted to start my own book but I've never had a chance," I explained and smiled a bit to myself. "When I was younger, I dreamt that I'd travel the world and then write about it in a novel with twists and turns and such along the way."

"Maybe you still can," Harry suggested. "What would stop you now? I mean, if you plan in continuing to travel."

"Well, that's just it," I sighed and played with my fingers in my lap. "How would I ever be able to travel the world?"

I shrugged yet again as I reached to turn the volume up on the radio, the horrid sound of today's pop music filling my ears. Nonetheless, I leaned back in my seat and drummed my fingers on my leg in the silence that fell over us.

After an hour or so of completely blissful quietness, my eyes began to droop shut slowly, the sound of whatever pop hit was on the radio drowning out to background noise.