It's just an article {h.s}

Chapter 8

I can't stop thinking about it. No matter how hard I try I can't stop the kiss playing over and over in my mind. God, it was only a kiss on the cheek, it's not like it was a fucking make out or anything, so why do I care so much? I mean for all I know that's how he says goodbye to everyone. Yeah, that's probably it, nothing special just a normal goodbye. Because people do that right? A kiss on the cheek is a totally normal way of saying goodbye. 

Or maybe it's because he thinks I'm a massive fan. I mean he met me at one of his concerts, it would be safe to assume that he thinks I'm a massive fan, especially because I came to tonight's concert. So he was just saying goodbye to me like he would a fan? Which makes a lot of sense actually because Kayla's shown me heaps of videos like that, videos of Harry kissing fans on the cheek, so it wouldn't be too far-fetched to assume he kissed me because he thinks I'm a fan. And he said multiple times tonight that his fans mean everything to him, so it wouldn't be out of character for him to kiss a fan goodbye right?

Okay, so he kissed me because that's how he says goodbye or because he thinks I'm a fan or both, not because he likes me or anything like that. Great now that that's established I can finally get on with my night. Or I could if I could just stop myself from thinking about that stupid kiss. It was all I could think about on the drive home and it's all I can think about now as I try to fall asleep. It just doesn't make any sense to me and I find myself overthinking everything that has happened over the past week.

I know that trying to sleep is pointless when all I can think about is Harry and this stupid cheek kiss so I get out of bed and to go find a book to read. Reading has always calmed me down, whenever I'm stressed or overthinking things I find that reading provides the perfect escape. For a moment I can forget about all my worries and just enjoy somebody else's life. I search through my bookshelf, trying to find anything that pops out at me but nothing seems to be grabbing my attention tonight. That is until I see the lone book sitting on the kitchen table, just where I left it hours before. I wanted to read to avoid thinking about Harry but of course I am drawn to the one book he gave me. Before I even know what I'm doing I've picked up the book and am moving back towards my bed.

For some reason just holding the book causes a sense of peace to rush over me but I have no clue if it's because of the book itself or if it's because it's Harry's book. My mind has stopped spinning so fast, my racing thoughts calming to a more manageable level and even though I'm still thinking about the kiss, I no longer feel suffocated by it. 

I sit on my bed, the lamp casting a soft glow over the room, with the well worn copy of 'Kafka on the Shore' in front of me, it's cover bent and spine cracked with constant use, it's pages yellowed with age. It feels out of place, in a space so distinctly mine it feels almost like an intruder sticking out like a sore thumb. Something that's so unmistakably his that it overwhelms the room to the point where it's almost all encompassing. I almost don't want to read it, don't want to touch it even, because it feels too personal, too private for a stranger like me to have. 

I know I'm being stupid, I mean he gave me the book and at the time I didn't see anything wrong with it, but now after the kiss it feels like too much. I don't know if I can read this right now, with everything else going on in my mind I'm sure reading his book is just about the worst thing I could possibly do, but in the end my curiosity wins out. I've been wanting to read this book for so long now that not even my intrusive thoughts about Harry are enough to stop me.

And so I do. I read and read until, despite my scepticism, my earlier worries about Harry fade away and I'm fully immersed into the world of Kafka Tamura and Nakata, taking in the beautiful world Murakami created. I read until the words on the page start to blur and I almost miss the pink piece of paper wedged at the start of chapter 13. For a second I think I must be hallucinating, that I must have been too engaged in the book to realise I was slowly slipping into a sleep deprived madness. But no, covering chapter 13, standing out amongst the yellowed pages and small black font, sits a fluorescent pink sticky note.