Her Alias [Niall Horan]

2- Niall

      “No,” I automatically lie, though I know none of them believe me from the looks I get. I just can’t get her out of my head. I talked to her for not even ten minutes and suddenly I can’t stop thinking about her.

      The minute we get home, I immediately go to my room and lay down. This girl… what is so special about her? I’ve never felt this way about any of the fans I’ve met, or any other coffee counter girl, not even the nice cashier at Nando’s.

      Niall Horan is love struck by the local coffee counter girl?

      Great, I can see the headlines now…

      We have a signing tomorrow. I’ll call her after that. After all, Liam did say to call her when it feels right.

      That feels exactly right.

***

     The crowd is absolutely deafening. You think I’d be used to it by now, but it’s still hard to believe, and I still get anxiety around the crowds.

      Girls are screaming the highest, loudest screams I’ve ever heard in my life. They’re all jumping up and down and waving, and holding up signs as high as they can. It’s a massive sea of fans, a gigantic ball of noise and sound, all directed towards us.

      The only thought that usually keeps me sane at these signings is the fact that these girls are fans that came here to see us. And seeing their expressions when they meet us is almost magical. Just knowing that we’re making people light up with joy is enough to make me enjoy signings.

      Going in the blocked off side entrance, we’re only greeted by more screaming fans, only these are inside in a line by the signing table, and their screams echo harshly in the enclosed space.

      For some reason I find myself searching for her. Searching for Katie Jones.

      I don’t know why, if she wasn’t screaming and asking for an autograph back at Starbucks, she most likely wouldn’t be here. This signing is early in the morning, one that only the really dedicated fans go to.

      Unfortunately, I think the others are right. She seemed less than dedicated.

      I take my seat in the middle of the signing table, scanning the crowd of antsy fans.

      “Niall! Hi!”

      “Oh my God, Zayn!”

      “Liam! Marry me!”

      The shouts are all meshing together into one big ball of noise.

      Our bodyguards unclip the rope separating the line from us. I try throughout the whole thing to keep my attention on whatever fan is in front of me, but I still can’t stop thinking about Katie.

      Suddenly I’m even more anxious to get back to the house so I can call her.

       A couple hours and a thousand fans later, we finally arrive back at the house. I whip out my phone and dash to my room again, wanting to do this properly and in privacy.

      Taking a deep breath, I slide open the drawer on my bedside table and pull out the carefully folded napkin with Katie’s number on it.

      Punching the number into my phone, I start to notice that my hands are sweating. Why are my hands sweating? How can this girl do this to me when I’ve only ever talked to her in a coffee shop for five minutes?

      Press call you coward.

      “Why is this so hard?” I groan, falling back onto my bed.