Pretty Please Don't Pinch Me

5. The Morning After

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The whole drive home my mind is racing and I'm trying to both rationalise and understand everything that's happened, and how I would even begin to explain the night's occurrence to my family. Oh, hey fam. Just had dinner with Harry Styles. Yes... the Harry Styles. It seems incredibly unlikely, and I wouldn't know where to even begin. My mind wanders back to the scene I've played out in my head, over and over again, almost trying to convince myself it actually happened.

"Here," he said, as he handed me his phone. "Put your number in, and we can catch up again if you'd like," he said very nonchalantly.

I left, with adrenaline pumping throughout my body, but that soon turned to feelings of doubtfulness. Yes, he did indeed ask for my number, but he never gave me his. Perhaps he asked out of politeness?

When I pull up in my driveway, I notice Dad's car in the garage and see that he's home from the two-day work conference he had in Sydney. I'm genuinely so happy to see that he's back again and wonder if I'll tell him what had occurred, or if I would even know what to tell him. I doubt he'd even know who Harry was. Better not.

I check the bedroom door of my parents, and am met by the sound of light snoring, so I instead head upstairs to my room. I pace back and forth for a few moments, overcome with feelings of wanting to scream out of giddiness, and instead fall silently back onto my bed, clenching a pillow as if I were part of a cheesy 80's sitcom.

Opening my laptop, I type 'Harry Styles' into Google search and am met with 66,200,000 search results. I am so out of my depth right now. I find numerous articles pairing him with a string of famous celebrities, and one even claiming that he was spotted at an LA bar earlier this evening with eye witnesses claiming that he was "out of control drunk." I laugh to myself about that considering they clearly don't even know which country he's in, let alone which bar.

I then search his twitter and almost choke on my water when I see that he has over 28 million followers! 28 million! It seems so laughable in comparison to my measly 300 something followers. I read over a few more articles and realise that I need to stop and go to bed. Maybe my head will be more clearer in the morning.

- - -

I awake to the annoying droning sound of my phone alarm, and move my arm around aimlessly on the floor to shut off the annoying noise. I slide my finger across the screen and my room is silent once again - well, besides the faint chirping sounds of the birds outside my window. I am tempted to go back to sleep, however the overbearingly loud engine noise of our neighbour's lawn mower soon decides for me. Fine - I'm up!

I sit up in bed, and do some morning stretches as I try to adjust to such an early time of morning. I scroll through my Instagram feed for a little while, and when I'm done, I notice a message on my home screen that I didn't see previously.

Probably Scarlett. I prepare myself for the emotional onslaught that I'm sure to receive about her meeting up with Jackson. Pages and pages of screenshots and paragraphs of "and I was like... then he was like," but instead I notice it's from an unsaved number.

Hey, really glad you attacked me. If your offer still stands in being my tour guide, message me when you can, H x

Suddenly the memories from last night come flooding back. How can I even process this right now? I'm just completely bewildered at the entirety of the situation. I reread the message. "really glad you attacked me." I smirk as I recall the moment I sprayed him in the eyes with the Our Moment perfume, thinking that he was an attacker. I decide to get some food into me before I think about replying. I head downstairs and find Mum preparing her breakfast in the kitchen.