The Short Stories of Harry Styles

Americano: Part 2

You spent a whole three weeks searching for Harry.

You expected his coy remark that first day at the coffee shop to mean that he'd see you there the next day.

You were wrong.

You waited a whole five hours for him to show but he didn't. You even asked the barista and they said they hadn't seen him but that if he showed they'd let him know you were looking for him.

You carried his flannel shirt in your tote every day since that day you'd embarrassed yourself in front of him. You also spent every single day since then replaying the entire exchange between the two of you and constantly wondered if you had scared him off.

You, Liliana, were not one to get infatuated with men. You were never the girl who dated in high school and you certainly hadn't had plans to start in college but here you were, for two whole weeks, wondering where that curly headed scoundrel had gone off to.

The first week was abysmal in terms of your ego. You sat at that coffee shop, day after day, hoping he'd show to no avail.

The second week was embarrassing in terms of your pride. You had decided to resort to borderline stalking.

You tried every form of "artist, Harry," "Harry, art," "cartoon drawings, Harry," in Google and nothing ever popped up. You then upped the ante.

You walked over to the Visual Arts building on campus and asked around about Harry, the cartoonist, and not a single soul knew who you were talking about. You knew he was here, it was almost like a sixth sense. He was a student, he was clearly your age, so you knew he was here....somewhere.

It was nearing the end of the third week and you had practically given up. Your friends told you that you must have dreamt him, conjured him up somehow in your mind after months of no real human interaction.

You knew though, you knew his pestering was real. He had left you his cartoon drawing of you which was now sitting on top of your dresser.

He had not been imagined.

"Liliana, hurry up we're going to be late!" Your friend Sharon dragged you out of the Uber and onto the sidewalk of the gallery.

"You're always late." You grumble to her as you are low-key annoyed that she's managed to get you to go to yet another event for her boyfriend Chad...the photographer extraordinaire.

Chad is not someone you like very much. You pretty much can guess from his blatant lack of respect for Sharon and his clear disregard for anything most women say to him, that he is a misogynistic asshole and he'd do just about anything to get what he wants. What he wants is to fuck Sharon, along with any other woman he lays his eyes upon.

He's rich, filthy rich, and he knows he can get away with just about anything.

You remind him every chance you can get that he is a piece of shit and that you see right through him.

He proceeds to call you a bitch and Sharon does nothing to stop him.

And so it goes....a vicious cycle.

"I'll stay for five minutes tops Share...and then I'm gone." You hate when Sharon pouts, her pretty peach lips pulling down at the sides makes you feel like a terrible friend but you also can't help that you didn't want to come in the first place because...well her boyfriend sucks.

You let out a sigh, say you'll stay longer if Chad behaves himself and earn a gleeful squeal from your friend. You hate to disappoint.

When you both enter the gallery, you are shocked at the images hung up around the walls.