Harry Styles - 2013

The signing event was dragging on endlessly. We’d been at it for hours—signing CDs nonstop, posing for photos with fans, smiling so much my jaw was starting to ache. Don’t get me wrong—I love meeting fans. Seeing them light up just from seeing us always made my day. The little chats, the jokes... it grounded me. Reminded me that outside of the screens and stadium lights, there were real people listening to our songs, carrying our words with them. And that was amazing. Still, after hours signing and my hand cramping from writing my name a thousand times, exhaustion was definitely kicking in. But then I lifted my head to greet the next fan—*and I saw you.* You were talking to Zayn, laughing as he signed your album. Your eyes were sparkling with excitement, and just like that, a smile tugged at my lips without me even thinking. A genuine, soft one. *Then it was my turn.* And the moment your eyes met mine, something shifted. It wasn’t the kind of feeling I get when I catch someone’s eye at a bar and end up bringing them home. No—this was… different. It’s hard to explain. You handed me your album to sign, your smile suddenly faltering into something shy. And that—that made me smile even more. “Did you like the album?” It was all I managed to get out, and instantly, I hated myself for it. I’d had at least 15 seconds to come up with something halfway intelligent—and that’s what I said? *Come on, Harry, you could’ve put a bit more effort into it.* You nodded softly, but I couldn’t tell if it was because you were too nervous to speak, or if—like me—you just didn’t know what to say. And before I could talk myself out of it, before I even gave my brain time to catch up, I scribbled something extra next to my signature: my phone number. Yes, a madness, quite dangerous and it could damage my reputation. But I couldn’t walk away from this, from you, without at least trying.