August 2015

My sandals smacked against the concrete sidewalk as I quickly padded across the university courtyard. Classes had finally begun for the fall term - but the weather felt nowhere near autumnal.

The sun beat against my exposed neck, warming every inch of my skin. I held onto the straps of my tan leathered backpack, hoping it would somehow give me more leverage as I moved quickly. I mean - a girl could only hope for the best.

People were bustling along the courtyard. Some with their heads down as they read maps, whilst others chatted with their mates. I manoeuvred my way through the prongs of people, not wanting to be late for my first class. I quickly checked my watch and felt a sense of relief that I still had a solid fifteen minutes to walk the short eight-minute walk to the Literature building.

The classroom door was in my sights when someone's voice called out my name. I slowed down my pace, hoping that whoever it was would catch up with me.

They did.

"Shit Sam, you walk fast," I looked over to see a flustered Charlie. He was tall - much taller than I, but he seemed to be struggling to keep up the pace. He ran a tired hand through his auburn hair, grey eyes alert. "For a short girl, you give Usain Bolt a run for his money."

I stifled a laugh, "Clever," but nevertheless I slowed my pace down to match Charlie. We still had a good ten minutes. "I don't want to be late for Professor Kramer's class. This is our final year and the last thing I want is to be on the bad side of the one prof who writes out job rec's. I will not be Mitchum Huntzberger-ed. I have my eyes set on a position at Fox and Stiles Publishing House and there's no way I'm jeopardizing it..." I rambled on, hoping that Charlie would get the hint that this class meant everything to me.

"I know what you mean. Me mum has been pushing me to ask for recommendations from everyone. She even drafted out a letter so they can go ahead and sign it... I had to explain to her that it didn't work that way," he huffed, his Irish accent sounding thicker than normal.

I smiled up at him, "She wants the best for you. It's cute."

"Annoying, more like it," he grumbled.

I understood more than anyone else the pressure that came with graduating university with a degree in writing. My parents weren't exactly jumping with joy and throwing confetti when they heard about my pursuit of liberal arts. Neither mum nor dad were artists- with dad a physiotherapist and mum an investor of properties. They had high hopes for both their daughters to follow in their footsteps of high paying careers, and was thrilled when one of us chose a "suitable career path".

This once again proved that Sadie was their favourite daughter.

"Parents don't choose favourites," Sadie had reminded me time and time again, but I knew better. "Besides, you're my favourite."

It was cute that she tried to sway me to think differently.

Choosing words over science came with its constant string of questions. I was always being asked if I could really make a living off of a string of words, if I would be able to support myself once school ended, and if it was really worth it. To me, it was all worth it. Creating characters and stories was what drove me. I found so much joy and excitement in writing that I couldn't think of anything else that I wanted to do for the rest of my life. Choosing a career for its financial benefits over anything else seemed silly to me. This was why Advanced Literature and The Modern World with Professor Kramer was the key piece to reaching that final dream... and to prove to my parents that both their girls were making smart choices.

Professor Kramer had connections. She knew everyone and anyone in the literature world and was my ticket to meeting the best of the best. She was also my in with Fox and Stiles Publishing House - the top publishing house in not only London but in all of Britain.

"Did you know that Professor Kramer and Margaret Fox have weekly tea dates. Apparently, they're regulars at the Piccadilly Tea Room and spend two hours drinking tea and talking books. Why is she living my dream," I sighed dreamily.

This was yet another reminder that I needed to get on her good side, which was why when we entered the lecture hall I secured a spot in the second row to the front. I didn't want to seem too eager, alright.

I had known that this class was going to be tough, but as I studied the syllabus that would take up most of my diary for the next three months, I started to doubt myself. There were three major papers and five books that needed to be read - which all seemed fine and dandy - but it was the final project that made up fifty percent of our final grade (and would secure my chances of a possible internship) that caught my eye.

Written in bold across the bottom of the page,

Final Dissertation - 50%

My breathing felt laboured against my chest, like a fat man was doing jumping jacks whilst wearing bricks for shoes.

Student must complete at the end of term, a large-scale work of hybrid fiction.

"... Do not be afraid to write from the heart. Choose words, ideas, structures that are interesting and different. I want you to find your comfort limits and to surpass it. This class will be challenging at best, but the more you take out of these lectures the more you will grow not only as an author but as a human being," Professor Bridget Kramer was anything but short of being a goddess. She was poised and mature. Her hair was pinned back in a low grey bun, her suit a sophisticated navy.

I watched in half awe and half fear as she walked across the lecture hall. She didn't use a projector nor had any notes to read off of. Instead, she spoke with a poised yet authoritative voice that commanded the attention of everyone, including the birds in the sky.

"You're drooling," Charlie whispered in my year. I smacked him in the arm, scolding him under my breath, but subtly checking my chin just to be safe.

I wasn't.

-

I leaned against the plastic pub chair. I had somehow found myself in the middle of The Flying Pig with Charlie and Sadie, when I'd much rather be at home sorting out my novel. But once classes had ended for the day, I was swept away by an over enthused sister. 

The Flying Pig was nothing like Cameo. It was tucked away in the middle of campus and had been the breeding ground for students to migrate to in between classes and studying. I wasn't much of a drinker - unless you counted a glass of red wine from time to time, but they had decent burgers and chips I sometimes dreamt about. 

Which was why I had found myself here instead of my hot living room. Granted the pub wasn't much better, but we had snagged the table with an overhead fan so I wasn't going to complain. 

I picked at the fries on my plate while Sadie rambled on about her Political Theory class. Apparently the professor was young and American and made most of the girls in the class drool... Sadie included. I couldn't help but giggle at the annoyed look on Charlie's face as he listened to his girlfriend talk about the fit prof. 

"... You should see his hair! I swear, I thought Harry was going to ask him about what kind of products he used. It's so gorgeous and thick..." she swooned which only annoyed Charlie more. 

"Where is Harry?" Charlie asked, changing the subject from Professor McDreamy. My attention is piqued at the mention of the curly haired man who I haven't seen since the week I slept on his couch. 

I wasn't deliberately avoiding Harry... okay, that's a lie. I was kinda avoiding him. To my defence, it was because he had woken me up in nothing but his pants and a white t-shirt, and throwing me into a blubbering mess of awkwardness and embarrassment.

It only made sense to avoid all contact.  

Sadie shrugged, "He said something about going to library to print off a paper. He might swing by afterwards." 

Again, it wasn't like I was deliberately avoiding Harry, but suddenly I missed my cat. "I should get going." 

Both Charlie and Sadie's heads whipped up, almost like they had forgotten that I was even there. Brows furrowed, Sadie asked, "Where're you going?" 

"We haven't been home all day. I'm sure Patsy misses me..." 

"I popped in the flat before my last class. She was fine. Found one of my old slippers and decided to use it as a new pillow, but she's good." 

That still didn't change my mind, "I'm going to go anyways. It's late."

"It's only seven?"

As I opened my mouth to protest, I was cut off by a familiar raspy voice, 

"Hope you're not leaving on my account..." 

Shit. 

I could feel my cheeks warm up as I looked at Harry. His lips were turned upright with a smirk and his hair was pushed back by a thin headband. He was wearing the same white shirt I had seen him in the week prior. But this time around, he had opted for a pair of ripped jeans. That didn't ease the redness from my cheeks, or the thoughts of the tattoos barely hidden underneath his thin shirt. 

"Strangely enough, not everything's about you Styles," I lamely retorted. That didn't seem to throw him off kilter but only encouraged his smirk to grow wider. 

Harry's hand slapped against his chest in feigned hurt, "I'm wounded," he gasped. He quickly recovered from his dramatic response and took a seat on the only empty chair - that of course, happened to be beside me."Good to see you too, Harper. How is my favourite girl?" 

"E-excuse me?" I stuttered in response. 

"Patsy," he said cheekily. "I could hear purring through the door when I left this morning. Hope you're treatin' her like the Queen that she is," he winked. 

I only rolled my eyes, not wanting to fuel his teasing. "On that wonderful note, I'm going." 

Scrambling to pick up my backpack and the last bit of my chips, Harry's hand reached for my own. "Sam," he said softly, "M'only kiddin. Don't leave because of me. Stay, yeah?" 

I don't know why he made me feel like a fourteen year old girl who had just talked to her crush, but he did. With cheeks as hot as the summer sun, I reluctantly dropped my bag to the ground. "Fine." 

Charlie and Sadie were watching, amused looks on their faces. Sadie had asked me numerous times why I always got so worked up whenever Harry was around, but I never had the right words to answer her. 

I'm a failure as a literature student. My mum would be proud. 

But the truth was - it was the way Harry held himself. Confident, smart and cheeky, his ego was as big as all of London, but he was kind too. Yet somehow he still managed to get under my skin from time to time. Granted it wasn't always like this. There were many times that I didn't get annoyed from his stupid green eyes and cheeky smile, and we did manage to get on some days. 

Pushing away my flare for the dramatics, I took my seat and focused my attention back on my chips that were sure to be cold. Conversation quickly moved away from my abrupt attempt at leaving and moved on to the football game that was on the telly above. Harry and Charlie went into a debate over which team was better but I wasn't paying much attention. Instead, I was too busy focusing on Harry's knee that kept bouncing against mine. I tried not to focus on it, but it was hard not to whenever my heartbeat would quicken each time. 

I didn't know why my body was responding the way that it was, but I could safely say that I wasn't enjoying it. 

--

A/N: Question! Do you prefer chaps this length or longer? Let me know!