About (Harry Styles)

16.

Mr. Miller wasn't exactly thrilled to hear about what happened to my ankle. But being the respectful businessman that he is, he sympathized with me and allowed me a week of rest. I thought a week was pretty generous, considering it is Marco's uncle.

The following five days was filled with nothing but loafing around the house, with nothing to do but listen to my mother gossiping about random people who we we're supposably related to. It was one hell of a long week. And I blame Harry Styles for forcing me to stay inside and listen to all this rubbish.

I couldn't wait to get out of the house and roam about again. It's bad as it is that all I can manage to think about is him and him.

Harry Styles and his questions. Him and how I am still not over him completely. I just needed some thing else to distract my wandering thoughts.

My wish was granted by Marco, who I haven't seen in ages, when he called me this morning to grab lunch with him. He's been crazily working at the country club and probably laboring over at his foster parent's lodging business.

"Where do you wanna go for lunch?"

"Anywhere. We have so much to catch up on," I tell him. I have not said a word about who I ran into this past weekend. And to be honest, I don't know if I wanted to tell Marco just yet. He knows the situation, and he absolutely loathes him for it. And Marco rarely dislikes people. I don't want to waste a good lunch over such a bleak subject.

Once I get ready, I leave the house and walk to the bus stop. It isn't far away - a block at the least. As I approach the stop, I notice the usual lonely bench is occupied by someone. I pull out my phone, plug my headphones into my ears and listen to some music.

Well, to be honest, I only pretend to be listening. I don't actually have anything playing.

Why?

I know it's a bad, but I do it to avoid any sort of unnecessary conversation. I just hate having to talk to strangers. I'm not that great at it and I hated the feeling of being forced. Besides, we only talk for about three minutes which half of the time is filled with awkward silences. That's what conversations with strangers are like - forced and insignificant.

From the corner of my eye, I see the bus approaching towards us. When I step inside, I slide my student ID and find my usual seat - the very farthest back. Nobody bothers me there.

There aren't a lot of bus travelers today. Only the man who got on with me and two other women who both seem to have a fetish for fake nails. I can literally see them glimmering from here.

I open the window beside me, letting the mild June wind fan my cheeks. The soothing sensation across my skin almost makes me want to smile. Closing my eyes, I soak in the sunlight and revel in the peace I get from the steady motion of the bus. This is the life. Serenity and solitude.

"You aren't listening to anything," someone says from beside me.

I turn to the sound of the bizarrely familiar voice and my face almost knocks into Harry Styles, our noses only centimeters apart. Even though he's wearing a pair of shades, there's no doubt in my mind that it's him. I back away from him swiftly, the close proximity making me nervous.

"What are you doing here?" I ask in a whisper, suddenly conscious of our surrounding. Before he answers, I take from his hands, the left side of my earphone that he stole and throw my phone along with the tangled wires into my backpack. He chuckles deeply and quietly while taking off his shades.

"I would ask you the same thing, Elaine," he squints his green irises in suspicion as he cups his chin with his hand. "I'm starting to think our accidental meetings are not coincidences. Are you sure you're not a crazy stalker of mine?"