There were twenty eight right angles in the door.
It was made of a dark wood, mahogany, perhaps. Harry could see the grain of the wood – lines running almost parallel to one another, from one end of the door to the other.
It was chilly outside – around 11°C.
Harry stood there, trying to find something else observable, another fact he could recite and hold onto amidst all of the uncertainties swirling in his mind. He hated being confused and anxious – and he wasn't used to it. If it wasn't for Gemma, he wouldn't be in front of that door – he'd probably be back at work, modifying the blueprints for the bridge he was overseeing the engineering of. He was sure Malika had figured out a way to run the gas and water pipes parallel to one another without interrupting the flow of one or the other – he could be working on so many things – finalising the deal that would mean he could be designing the schematics for a minor NASA spacecraft – but he was there, at the door of a psychologist he was sure he had no use for.
But his older sister, after having married her husband, had become increasingly worried about the fact that Harry hadn't been in a long-term relationship in almost four years. Or any kind of relationship for that matter. In fact, as she had put it, he was "emotionally detached" and "not making emotional connections with anyone".
He rolled his eyes at the mere thought.
Harry didn't need lasting emotional connections. Not anymore. He needed to focus on his work. With his genius IQ, his contributions to society had to take first priority. That was his purpose – to make the world a better place with his big brain. Emotions were incredibly overrated, and their consequences lived on and caused all sorts of problems.
Still, Gemma maintained that Harry had some deep psychological scarring that was hindering his willingness to find love. But it was simpler than Gemma thought.
Harry didn't believe in love. Not in the way that most people did, anyway. What people called love was merely a series of chemical reactions in the brain that increased the endorphins in the body and instigated lust, attraction and attachment. It was a temporary chemical reaction that wore off with time. People who had been in "love", were the same people filing for divorce two years later. The reagents had been used up in the brain and the chemical reaction had stopped. It could all be explained by science.
That was all it was. Love didn't really exist, and that was a scientific fact. He found comfort in facts and statistics – things that had been proved to be correct, things that made sense and rarely changed. Human emotion was fickle and throughout his years in contact with people, he'd found them to be capricious and irrational in their decision making.
"It will be fine," he said out loud to himself – he knew that if he repeated the words out loud, he was more likely to internalise them. Harry brought his fist up to the door to knock. Realistically, nothing of note should happen during his time with this shrink, except the fact that he was going to be losing half an hour he could be using to get work done. But that could hardly be helped. He wanted to keep his sister happy.
He hadn't taken the time realise the peculiarity of the place he was entering – there was a path leading from the pavement to some dark stone steps and the mahogany door. The house was like any other on the street – two storeys high and made of dark brick. The houses were right next to each other with no space between them and had small front gardens – and the more he looked around, it seemed he was in an upmarket residential area, rather than somewhere a psychologist would operate. The front garden was well-kept, and neat – a series of rose bushes lining the path.
He allowed the comfort that came with fact that this place vaguely reminded him of the small town in England where he'd grown up – not that there was anything all that comforting about his hometown these days.
Hmm. He was beginning to see what Gemma might have been talking about when she claimed he might need to talk through some things.
The door opened, and he quickly stepped in, momentarily distracted by the relief of being inside from the biting cold. Judging by the cloud formations in the dull sky, the chances of rain later on were high, and he was tempted to calculate the actual statistics when her realised someone was speaking to him.
"Harry Styles?" said a warm voice from behind him as he shrugged his hood from his head and the door closed.
He turned towards a blonde who surprised him by almost matching his height, and had an smiling blue stare that immediately locked onto his. By quickly passing his eyes over her, he could gauge that she was probably around his age – if not slightly younger – was built slim, and had a thing for cats (one of the rings on her finger had cat ears).
"Uh, yes," he brought his hand to shake hers – which was considerably warmer than his. Also a great deal softer. His might have been a bit sweatier though.
"Taylor Swift, MD," she smiled in a way that made her eyes crinkle and her face light up, "it's so nice to get to see you, your sister Gemma was a friend of mine in college."
She gestured for him to follow her, without any further talking and Harry followed her out of what he'd guessed was her entrance hall and into a room leading off of it, that had a long, plush looking couch, across from a large, over-stuffed chair that the doctor was in. As what he now supposed was customary, all her certificates and degrees were hung up on the wall. There was also a desk on the other side of the room and the room was made more comfortable by the shelves of old and new books, trinkets, plants and a few pictures on the walls. There was a small table next to her armchair that had a notebook and a framed picture of a little blonde girl.
Harry might have not been interested in any romantic entanglements, but he could see that Taylor Swift, MD was a very attractive woman by any standards. Her skin was tanned and slightly freckled – he wondered briefly how that was possible, since New York had been almost below freezing for the past few weeks – her hair was a dirty blonde and reached just above her shoulders. She had a kind, delicate face and an aura bright like sunshine.
She suddenly cleared her throat and he was snapped out of his own head, his eyes trained on her as she spoke.
"How are you feeling today, Harry? – I hope it's okay if I call you that," she said with a smile and a small nod as she watched him carefully avert his eyes from hers and look around the room for a moment before he answered her.
"I think, I'm fine," he said slowly, sitting back and feeling a bit more relaxed than he had been five minutes earlier, "I think I'm okay," he said again, trying to convince the both of them.
"Harry, if there wasn't anything wrong, Gemma wouldn't have scheduled you to come and see a psychologist," she said with a knowing smile directed at him.
When Harry didn't respond a few seconds later, she said, "Would you like something to drink?"
"Uh," Harry broke out of his stupor and shook his head vigorously, trying to avert his eyes from all the things decorating the room and back towards her, "No, thank you, I'm good."
"Okay – tell me about yourself then," she said and leaned forward a bit, as if she was beckoning him out from inside his mind. Taylor caught a hint of his cologne – it was strong and unusual, the smell reminded her of cleanliness – how people smelled when they got out of the shower.
Harry found himself mirroring her actions subconsciously and cleared his throat, suddenly regretting not asking for some water.
"I grew up in the English countryside, and I moved to California a year later to study computer engineering and graduated early. I got jobs here and there, at software engineering firms, and moved to New York when I was twenty-seven. That was when we started my firm, Think Tank, which has grown to be one of the most successful in the state—"
"Harry," she let out the smallest laugh, "I could read all of that in The Business Times – I want to know about you," she said, emphasising the last word.
"Oh, um..." he stopped for a moment – he was sure he had been telling her about himself before.
Taylor sensed his confusion, and helped. "What's your favourite thing to do?"
"Work," Harry said automatically. It was true – he loved his job and how it allowed him to help other people using his mind.
"When you're not working, what do you enjoy?" she tried again.
"Working on my side projects," he began, but sensed this wasn't what she was asking because she'd clasped her hands to her knees – Gemma did the same thing when his underdeveloped EQ faltered.
"Uh – I like to um, go out at night and drive out of the city to a spot on the side of a mountain – away from any cities to minimise the light pollution interference – and I bring a telescope to look at the stars"
Taylor was smiling at the peculiar genius like he had achieved something big, and to her, he had. Gemma had warned her that Harry may not be eager to share much about himself, but Taylor saw this a good place to begin.
"That's nice. The stars are so beautiful when you leave the city. I like to wish on them sometimes," Taylor though out loud, hoping to encourage Harry to keep talking.
He began explaining to her that he only enjoyed the hobby because of the astronomy – the science and numbers behind the stars and how they were positioned – and she allowed herself to look at him more carefully, under the guise of listening to him talk. There was a light that went on behind his eyes when he began talking science.
She added "passionate" to the list on adjectives she could use to describe him. The most obvious of them was definitely "attractive". He had shaggy, dark hair that he occasionally ran a hand through, and it was short on the sides. His chiselled jaw line led her gaze upwards to his bright green eyes – they reminded her of the reflection of trees in the water of a lake – light green, almost translucent.
He was taller than her, by a good bit and he was built solidly but moved with an adorable clumsiness, as if his long limbs were foreign to him. Harry stopped talking –
"I don't mean to be rude or anything," he said slowly, "but aren't you going to take notes."
Time stopped for a second when her eyes flittered away from admiring his biceps to his curious face, "Don't worry, I'm sure I'll remember."
He raised his eyebrows, "Ms Swift, you're turning out to be a lot smarter than I'd thought you'd be – I don't really believe in psychiatry."
Taylor smiled genuinely, "I'll try not to take that as an insult."
The grin fell from his lips almost immediately, "No, I didn't mean it like that – I'm really bad with words," he said, looking worried, his eyes conveying his panic.
Taylor laughed, "No, I'm just messing with you."
"Oh," he seemed to calm down almost immediately, "Oh, okay."
He forced a bit of a smile. Moments later, Taylor began to probe him further.
"So, do you have a girlfriend, Harry?"
His breath caught in his throat at the mention of that, but he covered it up as being a cough. Avoiding her blue stare he said, "No, I don't have the time. Work is my first priority, I'm sure the last my growing company needs is for me to be, uh," he stopped, looking for the word, his eyes wandering around the room and finding Taylor's staring at him, "uh – distracted."
"Harry, relationships can be a source of happiness and support," she sat up straighter, "they can bring love and companionship and are important for self development. Overworking yourself isn't good for your mind – even a genius mind like your own. At your age, aren't most of your friends in serious relationships?"
"I keep the number of acquaintances to a minimum, so as to minimise time spent not being productive," he answered almost mechanically. Taylor couldn't believe she was hearing what he said.
No girlfriend, a few friends and his job. Gemma had warned her that he brother was a bit of a square, but Taylor hadn't been expecting a robot.
"So – correct me if I'm wrong – it seems like you keep social interaction to a minimum."
"That is an accurate deduction."
She looked at him for a long moment, and then reached over to the small table next to her one-seater couch and grabbed an open notebook. She flipped to an empty page and began furiously writing something. Harry took it as one of those moments when inspiration hit and you had to write down exactly what you were thinking.
A moment later, she handed him the page she had been writing on, and without giving him a chance to read what was on it, she touched his arm and said, "Do you like experiments?" He nodded, unable to trust his voice – she was so close to him and he now knew she smelled like cinnamon.
"Okay, I propose we do one of our own," she paused to make sure he was listening. "With your permission, obviously, I want to show you that social interaction is good for the brain – it releases a bunch of happy hormones that can boost productivity and efficiency – and that everyone, even a genius who is out to change the world, needs lasting relationships."
"I'm positive that you're wrong Doc, but I love a good experiment," he smiled genuinely and glanced at her wide, messy handwriting on the page she had handed him.
"Oh, those are things that I enjoy doing with my friends – so you and I can take part in all of those activities together to prove my hypothesis."
"Or disprove it," Harry added cheekily.
She rolled her eyes, "Yes, or disprove it," she conceded.
It was a bout a few seconds after that when Harry's phone began vibrating in his pocket. He checked it and narrowed his eyes and moved to stand.
"Well, our session ended ten minutes ago, sorry about that. I need to get going, it's a bit late."
"Of course you should get going," she said, walking him back towards the foyer – it was a circular room, the door they'd just entered through was off to a side, and there was a sweeping staircase that led to the first floor. A door to the right led to a traditional dining room with a long table and high-backed chairs. The floors were a dark, glossy wood that was covered in places by beautiful rugs that looked eastern. From what he had glanced around and seen, Harry could see that Taylor had customised and added parts of her personality to her home.
He was putting on his coat and Taylor unlatching the front door when he thought he saw a flash of white on the stairs, but when he looked, there was nothing there.
He stood just on the inside of the door and held out a hand to Taylor – which she took and shook, squeezing it a little and gave him one last smile.
"See you next week, Harry. Come dressed appropriately for item number one on the list."
Harry, who was still holding onto her hand, let go quickly and blushed. "Oh, okay. Bye then," he smiled naturally when he looked at her smile. From the doorstep he could still see where the staircase turned and there it was again – the flash of white. He could hardly go and investigate, so he tried to let it go and accept that the light was playing tricks on his eyes.
With a last smile towards the psychologist, he walked down the flower-lined pathway towards the black Jeep he'd parked there an hour ago. After getting in, he got preoccupied with answering an urgent email about the status of a satellite in orbit. When he was done, he pressed the button to start the engine and watched as a red Mercedes drove up to the main gate of Taylor's house. It opened for the car and it parked in front of the garage.
Harry quickly deduced that anyone in the house wouldn't be able to see that his car was still parked outside the pedestrian gate of the house. Craning his neck slightly, he saw a tall black-haired man step out of the car and half-jog to the front door. Taylor opened the door for him and he entered while she glanced around, as if to check that no one had seen what had just taken place. She closed the door.
Harry felt guilty, as if he'd seen something he shouldn't have. He drove off.