Broken Strings || Niall Horan [AU]

20 | coffee date

The overwhelming scent of coffee hits me and a small bell chimes throughout the crowded room. Cassidy glances up at the sound, catching my gaze, a huge grin spreading across her face. She drops her phone to the table with a clatter and leaps upwards, dashing across the room to throw her skinny bangle-covered arms around me, almost knocking over a waitress in the process. The weight of her body hits me hard and I stumble backwards, holding her tight to keep from falling over. She may be small and dainty, but she sure is strong. 

"Hi! Anna! Oh my God, I've missed you so much! It feels like it's been ages! How are you?" Cassidy gushes, all the while clasping my hand tight, leading me to the small booth she's sitting in. I sink into the cracked leather seat, comforted by both its warmth and the promise of imminent coffee. Somehow, coffee always calms me down. 

"I'm good, thanks," I tell her, smiling proudly because this time, it's true. "How about you?"

"Oh, I'm okay. Things are good, apart from the finding-out-my-boyfriend-is-a-lying-scumbag and dropping-my-university-course-and-simultaneously-losing-my-only-shot-at-a-good-future part," Cassidy says. And then she laughs. "But it's okay, right? Because now I'm back in Bournemouth with the best person ever." She cocks her head to one side. "I've missed you, Anna."

I mirror her frown. "I've missed you too, Cass." And it's true: I have missed having her around, despite her irritating little quirks and the way everything she does fills me with jealousy. At least, it used to. 

All of a sudden, it's just like the old days, the days of lying sprawled out in the school field at lunchtime and strolling through town, milkshakes in hand, chatting carelessly about everything and anything. Cassidy starts ranting about why she dumped her boyfriend, which reminds me of when we were young, because growing up, Cassidy was always the one with boy-related drama to talk about, and it was never the other way round. She was the first to kiss a boy, the first to have a long-term boyfriend, the first to lose her virginity. I was always just the shy one, the listener, the one who'd give boy-advice and never ask for it back because boys were the last thing on her mind growing up. 

As she speaks, I sit and admire her beauty. It's weird how things have changed: I used to get angry looking at her, filling with envy over her clear, porcelain skin and her cute little nose and her dimpled cheeks. Now, however, I'm somewhat appreciative of it. Like, wow, you're really beautiful. Good for you. 

We talk so much that I almost forget to buy myself a drink; when I sit back down after doing so, Cassidy asks, "Anyway, enough about me. How's your love life? Any attractive boys to speak of?"

I'm just about to reply -- and gush about Niall in a sure attempt to make Cassidy jealous -- when something catches my old best friend's eye. She stares, lips pressed together, at something just past my left shoulder. Her voice lowers to an excited whisper. "Oh my God, don't look now, but there are two really hot boys behind you."

Sometimes, the universe works in such a way that you can't quite believe your own luck; things happen and people act in a manner that fits together like a jigsaw puzzle, so perfectly and beneficial to you that all you can do is sit back and grin foolishly to yourself, thankful that things have worked out this way. When I glance over my shoulder, and my gaze lands upon none other than Niall and Harry -- who smile and feign surprise at the sight of me, waving as they saunter over -- I realise that this just so happens to be one of those moments. 

And they do look hot. Harry's black skinny jeans are tighter than mine, ripped at the knees, exposing a sliver of skin just above each shin. His unruly hair is pushed back beneath a beanie, his dimples apparent as he beams widely. And there, just behind him, is Niall. My Niall. He's dressed in dark skinny jeans and a casual t-shirt, his hair thick and soft-looking and a sweet, lazy grin drawn across his lips. His hands are stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, the thumbs sticking out. His eyes are twinkling, locked with mine.