Cannes | H.S

Birds

Layla

It doesn't take much time before we're both seated in the classic white convertible, rolling out of the garage and down the hill. The California sun is big, warm, and beautiful as it shines bright and proudly during its final hour. I place my arm casually out the window, enjoying the sky and the weather as Harry turns the volume up on the radio, allowing the newest hit to play as we continue to cruise. And if you had asked me only a short while ago if I ever pictured myself, driving through the streets of the hills with the top down, enjoying such a perfect day with none other than Harry Styles himself, I would have thought of it all as a fantasy.

For it's been less than a week since we've been reunited. It's only a small number of days that we've actually been together since we broke apart and lost contact from that dreadful morning in Cannes. We've lost many months, but with him, it feels like we've known each other for a lifetime. With him, time seems to stand still, not holding a true meaning in the matter as we live up to every waking second and minute shared. The only thing I regret is the way we parted and what could have been if I had simply been honest from the very start. I suppose we will never know? I suppose in the end, our feelings for one another shined through the clouds and the storm, providing us with another chance.

He reaches for my free hand, giving it a light squeeze with a look of concern on his face. "What are you thinking about, so quiet," he says, fearful of my answer.

"It's nothing. I'm just...really happy to be here with you," I reply truthfully, valuing his presence and our reconciliation.

He presses a kiss to my hand, holding it tightly for the remainder of the drive. I don't mind one bit. I enjoy his tender and sweet touch. I enjoy the way he sings along to every song on the radio, laughing awkwardly as I can't help but smile proudly at him. I enjoy how beautiful he looks in such a beautiful car as he effortlessly carries us through the lively city. Sooner than later, we pull up into the parking lot of a fresh market. I place my purse around my arm, walking next to him as he proceeds to grab a shopping cart. He's dressed casual, sporting cream colored trousers and a vintage white shirt. We walk into the market as he beams an excited grin. "Let's do this," he whispers.

"Did we ever decide on what to eat?"

"Still waiting on you, little darling."

"Harry, I'm not the best at these types of decisions. I'm far too indecisive..."

"Pick. Or I suppose I have to buy whatever comes in reach. Could I interest you in some orange filled wafers?"

"Alright, fine. How about...stir fry?"

"I could do stir fry," he says, nodding. I begin to walk over to the fresh veggies and fruit, stopping momentarily as he wanders off into the bakery, placing an assortment of cakes and pastries into our cart. "Any preference?"