Drowning

Nineteen;

Dates weren't exactly my forte; they never had been. I didn't long to go on them, and so I most certainly didn't take girls on them. But, this was different. This was Zahara and this was different.

Yesterday, after seeing Zahara in the coffee shop- which, for the record, was weird. It was weird how we bumped into one another so frequently, yet not enough. London was big yet small and this was evermore apparent now, but still, a small part of me couldn't help but wonder if 'fate' played a role. Anyway, after seeing here there, talking to her, things felt a little bit more clear. Uncertainty still followed Zahara like a shadow, but I was willing to try to at least give her the opportunity to show me she was worthy of trusting, that she wasn't going to burn 'us' to the ground the moment I showed any sign of affection.

So, tonight, after a somewhat frisky FaceTime call last night with Zahara, we were going to have a date. A real one. Well, somewhat of a 'real' one. I was going to be cooking for her, at my place. I wasn't the worst cook, but I also wasn't the best, so I was hoping that, if I gave her enough wine, anything would taste good to her. Aside from dinner, though, I'd be setting the scene, obviously; candles, music, the classics. It felt cliche and somewhat scary to be doing this, but I couldn't find it in me to care about that. I was trying to convince this girl that it'd be worth it. That I'd be worth it. Worth her jumping out from her comfort zone.

It was currently 5pm. She'd be arriving at 7pm, so I needed to begin the preparation for the food. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous.

But, it was nothing a little shot of whiskey couldn't fix.

-

"Did you like the food?" I ask Zahara, cleaning both of our plates from the table.

"It was very nice, Harry. Honestly. I didn't realise you could cook," she chuckles.

"Meh, I'm no pro," I laugh, taking the plates into the kitchen and placing them in the dishwasher.

Before I walked back to the table, I took a few moments to take some mental images of the beautiful girl sat at the table; her long dark hair flowing down her back, her red lips, big, wild eyes and that godforsaken little black dress she had on. It was nothing extreme; just an ordinary spaghetti strap bodycon. But, she sure as hell made absolutely anything and everything extraordinary.

"Are you going to rejoin?" Zahara giggles, gazing up at me suddenly from where she sat. I cleared my throat.

"Yeah, sorry," I smile, approaching her at the table.

"You look very sexy tonight," Zahara says as I sat down. I couldn't help the chuckle that escaped me. "What? You do!" she laughs.

"That's very rich coming from a lady such as yourself, Zahara." I say, taking a sip from my red wine.

I had worn a plain black button down shirt with some black jeans because it was a go-to and always looked presentable, but not over the top. To make it even more casual, I'd rolled up the sleeves halfway. I think Zahara enjoyed that.

"Shut up, Styles," she smiles. God, she was beautiful.

"So," I say, changing the subject. "Luke said Lauren was hot."

"Oh, Jesus." Zahara laughs, shaking her head. "She is more than happy in her current relationship!"

"Yeah, yeah." I smirk. "Did she mention anything about him?"