Thirty-three days until the wedding.

> I ALMOST DO <

Louis.

You told them you miss me?
You're not making this easier, are you?

They quoted you: 'Harry keeps sending them and it's driving me insane with guilt and desire to see him. Fuck, I miss him.'
Was that what you actually said? That you miss me?

Why don't you say it to my face?

Or are they lying to me so I can keep writing these to 'persuade' you?

It hurts that they are playing messaging pigeons when all I asked was to have a face to face conversation with you.

I'm speaking for myself here, but you are just telling them isolated comments.
Don't I deserve more?

I know you. I know you're thinking about me too.
I know you so well that I can guess exactly how you feel, what you're doing and what you're listening to.
I know you're probably tired from a long hard week at the studio plus the wedding planning that's taking most of your free time, and right now I can bet you're sitting by your window while reading this. Maybe The Killers playing in the background. Is the flowerpot with the jasmines I planted for you still there? Because if it is, I bet you're staring at it, the flowers must have bloomed in spring, filling the apartment with its perfume. Does it remind you of me somehow?

I bet you're wondering how to keep handling this, how to keep hiding all of this from Eric.

You told them you missed me. Did you tell Eric that too?

I'm honestly curious.

If I called you right now, would you lie to him and pretend I'm someone else?

I wish I could call you again, hear your voice. Run into your arms after a long day, feel safe and complete again.
I wish I could see you face to face without it meaning the risk of another goodbye.
I don't think I'm strong enough for that either.

We were always quite a mess. Too clingy, too in love, too loud, too obsessed with each other. But not enough to save our relationship, I guess.
It's probably better off this way.

But I have to confess that sometimes I still dream of you. And it's quiet, sincere, loving. On those nights where you occupy my mind, you're touching my face, asking me if I want to try again with you. If we can go back to that calm evening night by the lake, that night where we kissed for the first time, when we promised each other to be loyal and honest. That night where I felt fireworks and saw the shape of what a happy life would be like.
And in those same dreams, or memories, you promise me this all over again. And in every single one of them, I say yes.

Just keep in mind that I want to talk to you.

And not through Niall or Liam.

Also, I need to know.

Am I still invited to the wedding?

I didn't like the fact that my letters were getting more and more desperate and intimate each time, but I couldn't stop myself.

I still had lots to say to him buried deep in my veins.

I had month after month of bottled loneliness and broken heart to pour out. Months of pretending I was okay and focused on my professional path when I was actually dying inside for the love I lost.
Louis, my other half.

My broken heart needed healing. And weirdly, this idea of Niall was liberating.

Early this morning, Niall took the letter from me, saying he would meet Louis at noon for some 'best man duties'.
Even if he isn't pleased with this wedding in general, he seemed very content to have the cake tasting today.
So he rushed out of my home without even saying goodbye.

It still hurt picturing Louis in the altar next to another guy. Who, by the way, I still haven't met. It hurt even more to find all of these details from Niall and Liam.

Apparently, Eric and Louis did their wedding photos last week, Niall sent me a copy of one of them with a puking emoji.
Honestly, I share the feeling.
Then, at the beginning of this week, they picked flower arrangements that, according to Niall, Louis hated but Eric was too enthusiastic about.
And today, they were choosing the cake.

But it's not like I can do anything about it.
The wedding is in full motion. And I'm still here, standing still and pretending the days are not going by.

Pretending my heart is still put together and that I'm doing fine.
Going to the movie set each day with a smile on my face and forgetting that somewhere out there Louis was kissing another man, hugging another man, sleeping with another man.

My phone rang just a minute after three pm.
An unknown number.

My manager told me hundreds of times to not answer them. So I let it ring until it died.
But then it started again. One more time, two more times, three more times.
Whoever was calling was being really insistent.

After the fourth call went to voicemail and immediately after a fifth one came on the screen, I decided to give in.
I could act cool. Fake my voice.
Pretend I'm not Harry Styles if the person calling was a stalker.
I could even try a different accent.

So, I picked up, making my best impression of an American accent and making my voice sound a pitch higher than it actually is, just in case.

"Hello?" - I said.

"Harry?"

"I'm sorry?" - I asked, keeping my voice facade.

"Harry? Ehm, hey. Your voice sounds weird, but I know it's you. Niall gave me your new number." - Oh my God. It's Louis.

It's undeniably Louis.

"Louis?" - I breathed out, unbelieving.

"Yeah." - He chuckled. - "That's me. Uhm, look. I know you want to... uhm meet? And I've been thinking. Maybe we can talk soon, if you still want to."

My eyes widened, my breath hitched and my stomach was suddenly full of dancing butterflies.

I cleared my throat, trying to act cool.

"Oh. Yes. Sure, yes."

"Cool. So, are you free these days? I mean, with the wedding, my calendar is a bit busy, but I believe I can squeeze you somewhere."

"Oh." - I frowned. - "I'm filming this entire week... and next."

"Okay. So when?"

"Uhm, August 1st?" - I said, checking my mental agenda and believing that day was when we finished filming.

"Wow." - He paused, humming in thought. - "Okay, so in two weeks?" - Louis chuckled.

"Yeah, I'm sorry."

"No, It's fine. It's Great." - He coughed. - "I'll text you then with a meeting point. You... uhm, good luck with the movie."

And with that he hung up.