In the corner of her room sits a box. A box that almost can no longer be shut because it is filled to the brink with envelopes.

Inside those envelopes are letters. Scraps, pieces, and full letters all written to one boy. All are letters written, but never sent; for she never knew where this boy was. One day, it seemed, he was just gone.

He said he’d keep in contact, but he never did. He said he’d call once in awhile, but he never did. He said he'd be home to visit every so often, but she hadn’t seen him. And most of all, he said he’d never forget, but he had. She tried to contact him, sending him texts and attempting to call, but everything became a dead end.

So here she sat. At home, where she had always been. Waiting for him to keep his word. And all the while, to keep herself hopeful, she pretended he was somewhere out there receiving the letters she began to write and anticipating them as much as she anticipated seeing him once again.

As it was written in many a letter, the truth was, and always would be, that she loved him. She was in love with him. He had her heart in his pocket and it was with him where ever he went. Her love for him was as deep as the sea and as never ending as the starry night sky. She never thought of any boy as she thought of him and she knew she never would again.

She wasn’t bitter though, about this situation. She kept her head held high and put a smile on her face even when thinking about him or hearing about him became difficult. She heard of him over the news, she heard their songs on the radio, their faces were splattered across the internet. His curls had grown long since she had last seen him in person, he had sprouted and grown taller, his face had matured and he was beginning to look like a full grown man, instead of the cheeky teenager she once knew like the back of her hand.

But one thing, she noticed from all the pictures and videos, that hadn’t changed were his sparkling green eyes. The passion within them and gleam of happiness that they had always portrayed was still evident, if not stronger now. She knew his dreams were coming true every day and she couldn’t be any more happy and proud for him.

But a little piece of her heart was still sadly missing from her now that he was no longer around. She couldn’t prevent an occasional tear from falling as she sat idly by, watching her best friend achieve everything he ever wanted in the world and knowing that she was no longer a part of his happiness. She knew now that she was no longer a cause of the bright smile on his face, or that sparkle in his eyes. She was just a memory that he had easily forgotten.

It was in these letters that she expressed her feelings such as these, as if she could really let him know about them. In these letters she imagined that he would receive them and that, finally, her minuscule voice would be heard. In one letter from two years ago in December, she scribbled:

Dear Harry,

Merry Christmas, my love! I hope you and the lads are doing just grand this holiday. Tell Louis I said Happy Birthday and don’t let Niall go too wild with the egg nog.

It’s rather sad, not seeing your smiling face here at our annual Christmas party. I’ve just seen your family; Gemma looks stunning as always and our parents are just as jovial as usual. I miss your Christmas “shenanigans” and this party has become rather boring now without them. I’ve got almost no one to truly speak to the whole night through. I’ve only the small talk that everyone gives out of common courtesy.

The snow outside is unusually serene and untouched this year. I’m so used to seeing it ruffled up with foot prints, snow angels, forts, and the occasional snow man, which has now found a humble home somewhere down the street a ways where smaller children live. I just can no longer bring myself to go frolic in that special winter weather as we once did. I just can’t do it without you.

The mistletoe we once believed to be totally disgusting, hangs in its usual setting, from the ceiling above the entrance to our front parlor. It is now that I wish I had you back here this holiday where we could prove ourselves wrong, and discover the joys of the mistletoe, like we’ve seen many others do.

I think it’s safe to say that Christmas just, does not feel the same when you don’t have a best friend to share it with. But, I hope your holiday is happier than mine has turned out to be. And don’t let my sour mood get in your way.

Missing you always,

Christine

That Christmas would be the last time she would even seen Harry’s family anymore. Now her own mother understood what it was like to miss the Styles. It felt as though they had just disappeared.

And these letters became a sort of journal she could keep and read over once in awhile. There was no way for her to stop now that she had begun and come so far. She told Harry everything; anything exciting that would happen, the people she would meet, and she would comment on the big events that occurred in Harry’s life as well, such as the group winning their well-deserved Brit award.

She would tell him how proud she was of him and how glad she is that he’s achieving so much in such little time. She’d talk about the boys, too, and ask questions about them. She only wished that one day she would get the chance to meet the fellows that now had such a great influence on Harry’s life.

She pulled herself through every day with these letters. But they weren’t enough to erase the pain. At least once every couple of weeks, she’d find herself crying herself to sleep. She missed him and once in awhile the ache would become a stabbing pain and all she could do was weep.

On these days when she felt absolutely sorry for herself she would write some of the sappiest, most cliche, and most pathetic love letters to her now imaginary lover. If she ever read over them she read them in disgrace, marking them with a red circle with a slash through it, and avoid them as much as possible.

Dear Harry,

Good god, I miss you. It feels as though all my heart is gone and I’m just an empty shell where it once lived. Every time I see a happy couple walking down the street I want to cry.

I saw an old elderly couple feeding the birds in the park today. They were as happy as can be and the lady sighed and leaned her head on the old man’s shoulder. He smiled, kissed her forehead, and took her frail hand in his, holding it tight. They seemed so happy, even after years of being together it was as if they hadn’t seen each other in ages and were just now seeing each other for a long while.

And I can’t help but be jealous because that’s what I want and I’m sick and tired of waiting for it. I’m starting to feel selfish and bitter and all the while, I’m hating myself for it. I’m such a messed up, naive, silly little girl. I don’t even know what to think anymore.

But now I’m simply complaining and I hope you don’t frown upon it. You have no need to worry about me. I keep my head held high every day just for you. Because I know that’s what’s right. I know a smile on my face is more pleasant than a frown, and I know I really have no reason to be acting the way I am. The only reason I’m sad is because I’m letting myself be.

I love you and I’m so proud of you.

Missing You Always,

Christine

And all the sad and pathetic things written in her letters were all truth. Everyday she felt that her life would get more and more pathetic. That is until one summer afternoon in June, three years after she had seen him last, she received a peculiar knock on her front door.

She had been up in her bed room, listening to music and yet again, writing another letter. Her mother, who had answered the door, made a loud screaming noise and scared her daughter to death. She came running down the stairs in fear that something bad had happened.

“MOM! Is everything okay!? Who’s th-,” but once she saw the familiar faces of a beautiful dark haired woman who was the mother of the boy she fell in love with, the sister of the same boy, and a group of very famous teenage boys; she stopped where she was on the stairs and her mind went blank.

“Christine!” her mother shrieked, “They’re back. They’re finally back,” she said, tears streaming out of her eyes as she hugged her best friend tightly.

The curly haired boy with the breath-taking green eyes, glanced over at her and threw her a smile. So did the rest of the boys, but to Christine, Harry was the only one who mattered.

Suddenly, as if the earth dropped from beneath her, everything went dark to her and she tumbled down onto the floor.

Her mother, and Harry’s mother both screamed, and the boys gasped and rushed to her side. They carried her over to the couch and her mother ran to get her an ice pack to put on her forehead. She laid there for a couple of hours. After awhile, the mothers and Christine’s father who had arrived back home from work began to prepare a feast fit for an army. As everyone made their way to the kitchen, Harry stayed by her side.

“You coming, mate?” Niall asked him.

“No, go ahead,” Harry said quietly, brushing a stray piece of her hair behind her ear.

His friends shrugged and followed everyone else to the kitchen where the dinner was waiting.

It wasn’t until after dinner when everyone had made their way back into the living room to watch some T.V. before going back home, that Christine awoke.

She began to shake her head and moan and one of the boys, Zayn, who was sitting on the floor in front of the couch with Harry and Louis, said, “She’s waking up everyone!”

They flicked the T.V. off and all turned in her direction. They loomed over her like a great big cloud and when she opened her eyes and saw the many faces staring down at her, she screamed, for she was frightened.

Everyone winced and backed off immediately at the high pitch shriek.

She looked around frantically and quickly sat up which she found to be a bad idea when pain shot through her head.

“Here darling,” her mother handed her a pill and a glass of water, “You fainted and hit your head pretty hard.”

She breathed deeply trying to get her heart rate to decrease from the surprise.

Everyone watched her and she looked around nervously. She felt very overwhelmed.

“Who are-? When did yo-? How are you-?,” she stuttered, not finding the right words. She glanced at everyone’s faces, they were all so familiar but she knew she was not as familiar to them.

She attempted to sit back up but her father stopped her, “No, no, take it easy dear.”

She whimpered in fright as she looked around her. She never thought she’d see him again and here he was, sitting next to her with a shy smile on his face plain as day. As if nothing had ever happened.

She felt as if she was looking at a ghost. A very handsome, real looking ghost.

“I think we better take her up to her room. I think she’s a little overwhelmed,” her mother said, taking ahold of her hand and helping her off the couch. Her father came over to her other side when she found she was a little dizzy.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Liam offered.

“Oh no, dear, she just needs some rest now,” her mother smiled at him, appreciating his offer.

“Well, I’ll get the door for you when you get up there,” Harry’s mother said following them upstairs.

Harry kept his eyes locked on her, a worried expression etched across his face, and as she was helped up the stairs she locked her eyes with his. He could see the pain, the fright, and the tears welling in her eyes. It was then he felt genuinely awful with himself.

Once they had placed Christine safely in her bed they told her goodnight and shut the door behind them.

They all went back downstairs and continued to talk in the living room with the others.

“How has she been? Before today, I mean,” Harry’s mother, Anne, asked.

Christine’s mother, Shirley, sighed, “Honestly,” she paused, “Not very well, she doesn’t have any good friends. She’s had no one to talk too and she’s been very lonely.”

“The poor dear,” Anne said sadly, “Did you ever talk to her Harry?”

He looked down, ashamed, and played with his fingers, “No,” he said meekly.

Anne gasped and frowned at her son, “You didn’t? You were her best friend and you never spoke to her after you left?” She didn’t know what had gotten into him.

The lads sitting around looked away, they knew why he hadn’t spoken to her and they felt embarrassed even though they understood.

A silent tear ran down his cheek, he quickly wiped it away and stood and walked out of the room and out on to the porch, slamming the door behind him.

Anne sighed, upset with herself. Shirley tried to reason with her and the rest of the boys went out onto the porch to try to comfort Harry, leaving the adults to talk amongst themselves.

He sat in one of the wooden chairs on the front porch, his elbows on his knees, and his head in his hands, covering his face. They knew he was crying.

“Harry...,” Louis said quietly standing next to him and gently rubbing his back.

“I didn’t call her,” he mumbled, “I didn’t speak to her,” he ran his fingers through his hair angrily, “I didn’t even send her a bloody text message!” he stood up and moved over to the railing at the edge of the porch, his grip on it so tight that his knuckles turned white.

The lads glanced at each other with sad looks. Their best friend was torn up and he was terribly mad at himself.

“Harry, I’m sure she’ll forgive you,” Liam reasoned.

“But what if she doesn’t!?” he snapped turning around and looking at his best mates through red, tear swollen eyes.

“What if she hates me forever? I’ll understand if she does, I’ve been such an ass to her,” he closed his eyes, squeezing out more tears, “I was in love with her and I was too afraid to tell her before I left. Too afraid our friendship would be ruined, when I ruined it myself anyways. God, I’m so stupid!”

“Harry, I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” Niall reassured him trying to rest a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

But Harry shook him off, “I blew her off! I ignored her calls and texts, telling myself it will be better if we both just forgot about each other. That it would be easier if we both just learned to live without each other.” He sat back down on one of the chairs and wiped his face and ran his long fingers through his hair once again.

Finally, Louis got frustrated with his best friend, “You know what Harry? You were being a cunt. You were stupid and scared and completely awful.”

Everyone looked at Louis with shocked expressions, not believing that his best friend could be insulting him the way he was. Harry looked up at him, with more hurt and confusion in his eyes.

“But you know what?” he paused sitting next to his friend, “What the hell are you doing sitting here complaining about it all? You need to suck it up, grow some balls, and apologize to her. If you love her, let her know. And if she loves you too, which I have a feeling she does, she’ll forgive you. So stop feeling sorry for yourself and fix it. It will all be better in the end if you do. Trust me.”

Everyone stared at him and soon smiles crept onto their faces, they were proud of what Louis had said and knew he was right.

But Harry just stared at him with a blank expression, he averted his eyes to the floor and took a deep breath.

“You’re right,” Harry mumbled.

“Sorry, what was that?” Louis asked sarcastically, cupping his hand behind his ear as if he couldn’t hear him.

“You’re right, Lou,” Harry looked up at him.

Louis smiled at his best friend, “Usually am,” he joked, and everyone laughed.

Harry hugged his best mate and wiped the tears from his eyes.

“Group hug!” Louis announced and everyone joined in.

They all shared a laugh and made their way back inside.

Just when they were all about to leave, Shirley asked them where they were staying.

“We’re staying Harry’s place,” Liam smiled.

“Oh, well would some of you like to stay here? Sorry to steal your limelight, Anne, but we have a lot of spare room here and if any of you would like to stay you’re more than welcome,” she offered.

“It’s true boys, she does have more room here than I do, and I’m just up the street so it’s not a big deal,” Anne agreed.

“May I stay?” Harry asked shyly, “I need to talk to Christine as soon as possible anyways.”

Anne smiled at her son, proud that he was going to fix things himself, “Sure dear,” she kissed him on the cheek and he made a funny face.

“If Harry’s staying here, then I will too,” Louis agreed.

“So will we,” Liam smiled referring to him and the rest of the boys.

Shirley smiled, “I’ll go get the spare rooms ready!”

While she got the rooms ready the rest of the boys walked down the street with Anne and Gemma to get a few of their things to stay the night at the McClain household.

They arrived back in a few minutes and Shirley showed them to their rooms. She had two guest bedrooms, both with a fold out couches and both had queen sized beds. One of the rooms was her oldest son’s who was now off at university.

“There’s also another fold out couch in the game room across the hall,” Shirley told them.

“Zayn and I will just share a bed,” Harry smiled, he was used to sleeping next to the Bradford boy.

Shirley chuckled, “What ever makes you comfortable,” she smiled, “Well, make yourselves at home.”

They took their stuff into their rooms, Harry, Zayn, and Louis sharing one room, and Niall and Liam in the other.

They were all knackered after the long trip back so by ten o’clock they were all fast asleep.

The next morning Niall was the first to wake to the scent of something sweet being made in the kitchen downstairs, causing Liam to wake as well. Upon finding that pancakes were being made by Shirley for breakfast, Liam went up to the other boys’ room and told them breakfast was being served. Louis woke with no problem, but it took longer for Harry and Zayn to get out of bed.

After almost ten minutes of trying to drag Zayn out of bed the others gave up and went downstairs to eat the food Niall had almost finished already.

“Ni! There’s only one pancake left!” Louis whined.

“Sorry,” he said, with a mouthful of food.

Shirley laughed, “Don’t worry I can make more.”

Louis sat next to Niall and attempted to take a bite of one of Niall’s pancakes, but he was only threatened to be stabbed by a fork causing him to back away.

Harry laughed at his friends and looked around and asked, “Where’s Tumnis? I haven’t seen him around.”

As a response to Harry’s question, Shirley turned to him with a sad look on her face and when she was about to break the bad news to him gently, she was cut off.

“He’s gone,” a clear voice said.

Harry turned and looked at the girl standing in the doorway, her dark hair was tousled, dark rings under her eyes, and a sad look on her face.

“He died, July twenty-third of last year,” she said plainly, trying to fight back the tears, “I found him. Lying on my bed,” her voice was cold and simple, and you could tell she had been traumatized by the event.

Harry fought back his own tears as well. They were only about five years old when they had found Tumnis together. He was a little orange kitten in bush at the local park. They had begged to keep him and finally her parents gave in. They spent a lot of time playing with that cat and giving him a good loving home.

Harry felt terrible hearing that news and turned away from her cold gaze. He hadn’t just deserted these people, he had also deserted Tumnis, who sat here and waited for him to come back just as much as Christine had.

She walked into the kitchen and her mother handed her a plate of fresh pancakes. She poured some syrup on them and took a seat at the other end of the dining table from the boys.

Louis and Liam suddenly felt very awkward, but Niall just kept on eating.

When Shirley offered Harry pancakes, he politely refused, saying he had lost his appetite.

Just as Harry exited the kitchen Zayn walked past him and asked, “What’s wrong with ‘im?”

Louis gave him a look and smacked him on the side of the head.

As Christine finished her breakfast she looked over at the boys, stood, and said, “Well, I don’t believe we’ve officially met.”

They smiled at her and stood as well coming over to shake her hand, “I’m Christine McClain.”

“Louis Tomlinson,” he shook her hand and goofily smiled at her.

“Zayn Malik,” he smiled as well and she admired the gleam in his dark eyes.

“Liam Payne,” he spoke politely, his accent seemingly thicker than the others.

“Niall Horan!” he said enthusiastically, “Your mother makes brilliant pancakes,” he said, Irish accent fully intact.

She laughed at him and her mother thanked him for his compliment, for she was still standing by the island in the middle of the kitchen.

Christine, being the courteous and friendly person she was, quickly started a conversation with the equally friendly boys. She soon felt as if she had been friends with them for a long time.

Meanwhile, upstairs, Harry had walked past Christine’s room, the door now open and hiding nothing.

He looked inside and saw that nothing had changed too much. Except the walls, that used to be a baby pink, were now a forest-y green and her curtains and bed sheets were all shades of light and dark blues. The walls were covered in photos and drawings, some were framed, some just tacked.

Absent mindedly his feet slowly carried him into the room to look around. It was a large room, her laptop sitting on her desk which was neatly organized. He glanced at the pictures on the walls, most of them of her and her family, a few with unfamiliar teenage faces and some were more familiar. Like the face of Tabby Whitt, a girl they went to elementary school with. It was funny how he saw these well-known faces and yet they weren’t how he remembered them. They had grown just as he did.

Then he came to a huge collage of pictures that had been glued to a huge poster board and framed. In the pictures he saw Christine and himself. He laughed at how young they were and how they had changed so much. Her hair used to be really short, above the shoulder, and now it was down to the middle of her back. His had grown too, and become more curly. The faces of mere children staring back at him had now matured into the faces of young adults. The round cheeks had smoothed out, the flawless complexion had been flawed by a few pimples and zits. Times had changed and he now knew it.

And he felt disappointed that he had missed them.

As he kept scanning the pictures his foot accidentally kicked a very heavy box sitting in the corner, causing some of the papers to fall out of it.

He picked up one of the papers which was filled with writing. He began to scan the words on the page and his heart skipped a beat when the first words he read were, Dear Harry.

The letter told him of the events of her day and how much she longed to see him again. How she longed to wrap her arms around him and hear his heart beat. She asked about the boys and how they were doing and in the middle of a word she had stopped writing. He noticed the date on the letter was from yesterday.

He crouched down and took the lid off of the box and gazed at the many letters she had written. He was baffled. He saw how they were all dated and the first date that came to mind was the one she had spoken earlier this morning. July twenty-third twenty-eleven, the day Tumnis had died.

He searched for this date but the closet date he could find was two days after that, July twenty-fifth. So he unfolded the letter and began to read.

Dear Harry,

I went on a trip to the mall with my friends the other day. And these friends don’t know of you. While we were there, they met up with some of their guy friends whom I didn’t know. So during our entire trip around the shops and stores, I was left at the back of the pack, looking through glass windows at others, having happier times than I.

I will admit, it was one of my low days. I began to feel a bit sorry for myself, the lonely girl missing her best friend. Her best friend who gave her promises he never kept, who disappeared without a word, without a single heartfelt goodbye. The girl who sat by and watched as her true love left her without a care in the world, who didn’t have the guts to tell him how she felt before it was too late. Now this girl lives her life full of regrets that torment her every single day.

So in the middle of our trip, I, quite easily, slipped away. The other girls were having too much fun with their other friends to even notice I had left. I did, however, get a couple texts wondering where I had gone a couple hours afterwards. But, none-the-less, it was too late for them to find me.

I had left the mall entirely, not caring to even call anyone for a ride. It was beginning to rain so I had decided to walk home, for, as you know, my home’s not too far from the local mall. I cried as I walked, not caring how the rain was pouring down on me, and not caring about the odd looks I was receiving from passers-by.

I just didn’t care. I was hurt. The pain in my chest was unbearable and for once in my life, I didn’t care. For once in my life, I actually wished harm upon you Harry. I wished you could feel the pain I feel almost everyday. The aching, the longing, the loneliness, the suffering.

And to top it all off, Tumnis died the next day. That loving little fur-ball of a cat who stayed by my side my entire life. I found him, curled up on my bed, cold, life-less, and peaceful. I cried and cried, and I still cry. I had now lost two of my best friends. My parents didn’t know what to do with me, I was such a wreck. I still am. He missed you as much as I do, Harry. And he didn’t get the chance to say goodbye.

I hope you lads are doing well.

Missing You Always,

Christine

Her handwriting was clean and neat and the cursive she used to sign her name was pristine and magnificent. But she had written in pen and he noticed a few spots where the ink had smeared because of moisture. He assumed she had been crying when she wrote this letter.

He ran his hand over his face trying to fight back tears of his own however. He regretted every choice he had made to ignore her. He had abandoned her and Tumnis as well, who was now gone forever.

He grazed through some of the other letters and was shocked to realize that she really had been in love with him too. If she still loved him now though was a mystery to him. She hadn’t acted like it so far. But then again they hadn’t seen each other much since he arrived.

Suddenly he heard footsteps coming up the stairs and down the hallway. He shoved the papers back in the box and since he didn’t know what else to do, he pretended to simply be looking at her photos on her walls.

“Harry?” came a voice at her door.

He turned to look at her, finally admiring the woman she had become.

She grown and thinned out a little bit, her hair was wavy and long, her full pink lips in a line, and her blue eyes looked almost gray. She didn’t have that natural shine to her that she used to radiate. She was dim and worn.

He threw a shy smile at her and played innocent, “Oh, hi.”

She played with her fingers nervously and faked a laugh, “So, you like what I’ve done with the place?” she stepped inside the room.

He chuckled as well, “Not much as changed, really. Just a lot of new pictures,” he turned to look at the ones in front of him, “But not really new, just new to me, I guess.”

He looked over and flinched for she was now right next to him. She was so quiet!

She smiled and looked at the collage he was looking at, “You remember that?” she pointed to one of the photos.

It was both of them, younger and vibrant. Their faces were painted both to look like orange cats. They were making funny faces, like crossing their eyes and sticking out their tongues.

Harry chuckled, “Of course I remember that. That was at the carnival in the park one summer.”

Memories of that summer flashed through his mind. Of the sprinklers in the yard, the sunburns, the games, the laughs, the adventures the two shared. They always acted as though they were small children, free from the restraints of adulthood. It was that summer, the summer before they turned sixteen, that he realized he was in love with his best friend.

“We wanted to get our faces painted to match Tumnis when we got home, remember?” she laughed delicately.

Her laugh faded though, as if she had gotten sad by the remembrance of the memory. He glanced down at her and saw how she had her head tilted down and her eyes closed. Her lips were in a thin line and he didn’t know how she felt.

He felt so clueless about her now. He used to be able to read her like an open book but he felt as if she had changed; as if he had shut that book long ago and now that he came back, the spot he left off at seemed very confusing. She definitely wasn’t the same little girl he had left behind.

“You okay?” he asked, not sure of what else to say.

She nodded for a second and then replied, “Yeah, I’m good,” she smiled up at him and it seemed genuine. But her eyes revealed that she was lying. He could just tell she was lying.

“That’s a lie,” he stared at her and she looked up at him, a hint of fear in her eyes.

“How could you tell?” she asked.

He smiled, “I still know you very well Chrissy.”

A flick of surprise flew over her face at the sound of her old nickname, “No one’s called me that since... you left,” she averted her eyes elsewhere again and went and sat on her bed.

Harry watched her and followed suit.

She kept her eyes away from him trying to hide the silent tears that were quickly welling in her eyes.

Harry felt very awkward. He sensed that he had said something wrong and he fumbled with his long fingers.

“Did I say something wrong?” he finally asked, when she still hadn’t met his gaze.

She simply shook her head, her hair swaying as she did.

They sat in silence once more.

Christine took a sharp intake of breath for she had begun to weep, and when she did so, Harry noticed.

“Are you crying?” he asked, worry filling his voice. He hadn’t meant to make her cry!

“No,” she whimpered, her voice filled with sadness.

“Yes you are!” Harry protested, and as if on instinct he pulled her into his chest.

She began to cry now and she didn’t try to hide it any longer. She had had these feelings pent up inside her and no one had ever seen her this way. She never even allowed her parents to see her cry and now, here she was, crying in Harry’s arms.

“It’s just, so nice to see you, after all this t-time...,” she sobbed.

She felt ashamed of herself. She didn’t want to cry, it was weak of her. But she just couldn’t hold it in any longer. The sight of him was enough to bring tears to her eyes. He had changed and grown so beautifully and she felt she hadn’t changed at all. She felt so minuscule next to him, so unimportant. She just knew she was unworthy of such a man as he.

“Shh,” he hushed her and rubbed her back. It broke his heart to see her crying like this. And it broke it even more to know he was the cause.

The longer it went on, the worse he felt and soon he couldn’t hold it in any longer. He knew he had to apologize and somehow make this right.

“I’m sorry,” he said genuinely.

“W-what?” she stuttered as her crying slowed but her breathing stayed choppy. She backed out of his grasp and looked at him.

“I’m sorry, Christine. I’m an awful person,” he said to her looking her in the eyes. He reached up to wipe the tears from her face, “I just left you here. Without even a single goodbye.”

He had never hated himself more as he confessed his mistakes to her, “I was stupid, and scared, and ended up ruining one of the best things in my life... you.”

She looked surprised. She had only dreamed of him apologizing, and then while apologizing he was expressing how deeply important she was to him, which she never believed could be true. Her gaze on him was unfaltering, she didn’t even blink.

“I thought...,” he looked down, thinking of what to say, then he closed his eyes and confessed, “I thought that if I ignored you that my feelings for you would somehow disappear and we could go on living our lives... without each other. I though it would make it easier to forget,” tears were threatening to spill out of his eyes now as well, “But it didn’t. The fact was, and still is, that I love you Christine. I loved you when I left and I was too scared to tell you then. But now,” he looked up into her eyes longingly, “but now, I’m not afraid anymore. I’m just ashamed of myself and there’s nothing I want more than for you to forgive me.”

Christine blinked causing one final tear to cascade down her tinted cheek. Her wildest dreams were coming true right in front of her and she had no idea how to respond. Of course she forgave Harry. She loved him with all her heart and always had.

“I forgive you,” she whispered.

Harry searched her face for any hint of fault or untruth in her statement, “Really?”

“Of course,” she, sniffled and wiped her face of the tears, “I’ve loved you since the day I met you Harry Styles. I just never imagined you’d love me back.”

He quickly wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, burying his face into her neck. And for the first time in a very long time, Christine smiled. She smiled with genuine feelings of happiness instead of faking it to cover up her feelings of sadness.

She hugged him back tightly as well and felt all of her feelings of heartache and woe just wash from her being entirely. For once in the past three years she finally felt good.

“Thank you Chrissy,” he whispered to her, kissing her temple.

“No, thank you Harry,” she pulled away and rested their foreheads together, “You came back to me.”

He smiled his award winning smile and suddenly he couldn’t hold back anymore. Much to Christine’s surprise, he crashed their lips together. As if on instinct her hands found their way into his soft curls and his hands rested firmly on her hips, his fingers lightly digging into her. This kiss held more passion than any you’d see in a movie or a romance novel.

Then suddenly, much to Harry’s surprise, Christine playfully pushed him over and he smiled into the kiss. She hovered over him not letting their lips leave each other. Then she snuck her hands underneath his t-shirt and he shivered. His hands moved up to cup her face and graze over her neck. Nothing about this was sexual in any way. They were simply enjoying each other after so long.

“What did I tell you boys?” a voice came from the doorway, interrupting everything they were doing.

Christine jumped and, on instinct, flew away from Harry. Harry looked up to see his four best friends standing in the doorway to her bedroom, grinning like Cheshire cats.

“We’re glad you finally made up!” Liam laughed.

“I hope you were going to use protection!” Niall joked.

Harry rolled his eyes and he looked over at Christine who’s cheeks quickly turned pink in embarrassment. He smiled over at her and she smiled at him. He sat up on the bed and intertwined their fingers.

“Thanks for ruining the moment, lads,” Harry rolled his eyes at his best friends.

“It was our pleasure,” Louis jokingly bowed. The boys laughed and made their way back downstairs, leaving the two alone at last.

Harry wrapped his long arm lovingly around Christine and pulled her close, whispering in her ear, “I love you Christine.”

Her heart melted, “I love you more, Harry.”

He faked a gasp and said, “Nu-uh! There’s no way you love me more than I love you!”

She just laughed and placed another kiss on his beautiful lips, savoring the everlasting feel of his soft kisses. Soon he pulled away and placed kisses all over her face and down her neck. She giggled.

“Harry, I’m ticklish!” she laughed.

“You’ll get used to it babe,” he winked at her.

They kissed once more and then they decided to head back downstairs. As they were halfway down the stairs, Christine remembered something.

“Wait, I forgot something, you go ahead I’ll be right down,” she told him.

Before she could turn and leave him he pulled her down to him and placed a kiss on her lips again, “I’m never letting you leave my sight without a goodbye kiss,” he said sweetly to her.

“It’s not goodbye though, and it never will be,” she smiled at him. Then she hopped back up the stairs and back into her room to do what she needed to do.

She laid her eyes on the object she needed to take care of and approached the shoebox in the corner that was still overflowing with papers. She knelt down beside it and grazed her fingers over all the familiar notes she had written. Then she grabbed the lid to the box and forced it on. With a sharpie she wrote a short paragraph on the lid. Then she went over to her desk and grabbed the roll of tape she had in one of her drawers and tapped the box closed. With the box in hand she opened her closet door and shoved the box onto the shelf above her and into the corner, never to be opened anytime soon.

She smiled to herself, closed her closet door, and happily skipped back down to join the group of her friends and family downstairs. Finally she could rest her head at night and not have to feel sad anymore.

So now, on the top shelf in her closet, pushed all the way to the corner, sits a box. A box full of sad letters to a lost love who no longer is lost. And on the lid of that box, in messy, hurried script, reads:

The wait is over. He came back to me. And never shall we be torn apart again.

Notes

Please, drop a comment and let me know what you think!
I have a lot of other stories I could post on here. This short story is a test run, the more response I get, the more stories I'll post!
Thanks! :)
Sarah