The Witness (H.S.)

3

When I was six years old, I broke one of my fathers model aeroplanes and didn't admit it. He had a huge collection of various planes from all around the world. His favourite model was of a B-2-stealth bomber and exactly this one I found especially interesting because of its unique form so I just had to take it of its rack. For a long time I held it in my small hands and admired it. But being a child I was convinced that an aeroplane should be able to fly so I climbed on top of my fathers desk und threw the model. For a short moment I watched in astonishment as it glided through the air before it crashed to the floor and splintered into tiny pieces.

When I was thirteen I felt - like probably everyone going through puberty - misunderstood and was pissed at anything and everyone. Victim to my ill humour was Grannys maid Maria, although she was the only person actually caring for me.

Maybe it is exactly this injustice or my egoism - being the reason for all those white lies I told throughout my life to save my own neck - or maybe it is something completely different I need to pay for now. No matter what was the cause I'm sure I incurred the wrath of that power of fate upon me. Why else do I - someone who is hiding from way worse than paparazzi - have to move into the house next to the family of a damn worldstar.

And HIM of all people!!!

I'm really curious for Sam's explanation. Even though I moved across an ocean, changed my eye and hair colour, I'm certain this decision wasn't one of a genius. Couldn't my life be easy for once? I should just turn around and run as fast and far as I can.

A cough pulls me out of my thoughts. Oh shit! Did I just stare at him the whole time? Embarrassed I feel heat creeping into my cheeks and look away. Even though I'm not a fan I get nervous. I mean he is Harry Styles - the best example of a musician who made it from playing in the streets to a worldwide phenomenon over night thanks to a YouTube video gone viral. With his unique deep, scratchy voice he sells record over record. Surely it helps that he resembles a Greek God with his toned, defined, fit body and looks like an angel with his short brown curls, pouty pink lips and emerald eyes. But that's not what has my stomach into a twist. I really should just leave.

"I must admit, even though I’m not thrilled about being stalked to my mom’s house, again by the way, those cupcakes do look delicious“, he says with that deep raspy voice and a thick British accent I still remember clearly. He crosses his arms in front of his chest as he leans his long body against the doorframe. A cunning smile adorns his lips while his eyes scan me inquisitive. Unsure if he is really that arrogant now or if he's just playing with me I finally find my voice.

"Sorry to disappoint but I'm here to see Anne. I live next door." Now he's the one looking surprised. Probably he's used to being the centre of attention.

"Oh, well. I'm -"

"Harry! What's taking you so long? The tea gets cold." Anne's voice echoes through the house and interrupts him.

„...Harry", he sighs and holds out his hand. I place mine in his, ignore the same feeling of tingles I got years ago, and introduce myself.

"I'm Mi-...Hayden." For a short moment my eyes widen. Oh shit... I really hope he didn't noticed my almost exposure. What's happening? Never before was I this close to reveal my name but put Harry fucking Styles in front of me and I get nervous and ruin almost everything.

"Nice to meet you", I hastily add to distract him from my faux-pas.

"It's my pleasure", he says politely but frowns. Only now he lets my hand go. His eyes scan my face as if he's trying to find something. And I really hope he doesn't.

"You're American? What made you move to Holmes Chapel?"

"Oh, uhm..." Shit, I haven't thought about that. What did Sam say? Just improvise, Mia!