Soulmates, sunflowers, hot air balloons, ballet, wildfire and music.
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EXCERPT:
"Why do you always call me sunflower?" She looks as though she's desperate for the answer, staring into my soul with so much sincerity in her words.
I smile to mysel...
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What a guy.
It's not everyday you get to meet Harry Styles. Let alone spend hours wandering the streets of New York talking about nothing and everything.
Harry freaking Styles.
The famous singer, actor, model.
And all round lovely company.
I cannot fathom the fact he wanted to spend time with me.
If it wasn't for my insecurities getting in the way then I would have asked for his number.
You can't exactly blame me.
It is the Harry Styles. The same man who probably has thousands of girls asking for his number day in day out.
And I think I'm special enough for him to actually give me his number.
Not a chance in hell.
So to save myself the heaps of embarrassment, I chose not to say anything more.
But I must admit, it was nice to be that girl for once.
I don't know if it's something I'd be able to do on a regular basis, so I admire Harry for that.
The thought of all attention on me, is my epitome of fear.
Dance is different. Because in dance no one knows who you are. They see you in costume and from afar.
But to have someone knowing all details of my life with a constant watch over me seems so suffocating.
Still, these types of things never happen to me.
Esme on the other hand. I'm surprised she hasn't met Harry Styles with her lifestyle.
She's the girl you'd expect these things to happen to.
The same girl who'd be photographed, looking effortlessly stunning on the front cover of a magazine.
Oh God.
I hope nobody saw us together.
The last thing I need is for Harry to be affected by talking to me.
With my luck, I'd somehow manage to ruin his career in one night.
I walk myself over to the coffee machine, physically shaking the thoughts from my head.
Right now, I need to just take a deep breath and not think about it too much because I'll get worked up over literally nothing but my imagination.
I reach for one of the mugs on the drying rack, placing it under the machine and clicking the button for black coffee.
There's really no point in me going to bed, I'd rather push through the day with somewhat productivity rather falling asleep now and not getting up until nine in the evening.
