Mirabelle sighed and grabbed the television remote from the other side of the sofa. She switched the television on and began flipping through the channels.

“Hey, can you switch it the football channel?” Harry asked, coming up behind her.

“No. Eww.” Mirabelle answered stubbornly, continuing to switch channels.

“Come on. We already watched a ton of chick flicks. I think it’s my turn to choose.” Harry argued cocking an eyebrow at Mirabelle.

“ What happened to guests first?” Mirabelle shot back with a triumphant grin.

“Oh, whatever. Just give me the remote and everyone will be happy.” Harry cooed, nearing Mirabelle. She hid the remote under her armpit, sticking her tongue out at Harry.

“Loser.” She cackled, smirking at him.

“You asked for it.” Harry grinned, pouncing on top of Mirabelle. Harry tickled Mirabelle until she was breathless. Just before she let go of the remote, she spit on it.

“Dirty, dirty, dirty.” Harry hummed, shaking his head.

“I do not want to watch football, Harry. It’s so boring.”

“Fine. Lets watch the news.” He snorted, switching to the news channel.

A female reporter was getting ready to speak.

Very recently, eighteen year old Mirabelle Sedora was said to have escaped her home in Birmingham after a violent screaming was heard, reported a neighboring witness. The witness insisted on screaming of both males and females ringing through the house, and one glass window was seen broken. Mirabelle’s mother, Annabelle Sedora was seen speaking to the police. Ambulances and fire trucks bordered the house, and a child of single mom, Annabelle, was seen being taken into the ambulance. No one knows exactly what happened at the Sedora household, but blood was seen on the premises. Police are now on the search for Mirabelle Sedora and investigating the case.

Harry switched the TV off and stared shocked at the floor.

“That was a bad idea.” Harry whispered to himself.

Mirabelle was trying to control her breathing. They both stayed silent, not daring to speak. Harry was scared. Was he taking care of a possible criminal? No. He couldn’t afford to think like that. This whole case must be misunderstood. Mirabelle was a sweet and kind girl. She couldn’t have been the cause of that screaming.

Harry turned to Mirabelle, who was frozen in fear. Her face was pale, and it looked like she was holding her breath. Her lips trembled slightly, and her fists were balled up.

“Mirabelle.” Harry said slowly.

“Stop.”

“Mirabelle.”

“Stop it.”

“Mirabelle, please…”

“No! Stop! I told you I was a monster! Why are you even nice to me? I could kill you! I probably killed someone there too.” She yelled, pointing to the blank screen of the television.

“Mirabelle, you are not-“

“Shut up, Harry. Just shut up!” Mirabelle screamed, throwing a pillow to the floor as she began to cry. Before Harry could stop her, she bolted out of the room.

Harry became panicked. He didn’t know what to do.

Should he go comfort Mirabelle? Or would it be best to leave her alone?

One thing he knew for sure, was that Mirabelle could never have meant to hurt anyone on purpose. She was fragile, alone, and she ran away when she saw a fly. Harry knew Mirabelle was probably heart broken right now. He knew she was blaming herself for everything. He knew she was terrified of this information. Yet, he found it shocking how she could have been so surprised to hear this information if she had done it. It was almost as if she had…
Forgotten.

Harry lied on the couch for quite a while, asking himself what he was to do. He could hear Mirabelle’s loud sobbing from upstairs. Finally, he decided he would go check up on Mirabelle.

Mirabelle’s face was stuffed in a pillow, her cries now sounding muffled.

“Mirabelle.” Harry coughed. She stopped crying and held her breath.

“Mirabelle, please don’t feel guilty.” Harry begged, sitting down at the edge of the bed.

“What am I to feel then, Harry? Happy?” she barked, flipping over so that she was lying on her back.

“Neither. Just know that nothing is certain yet.” Harry soothed, rubbing Mirabelle’s back. Mirabelle was shivering. She was shivering so bad, that Harry thought she would have a seizure. He scooped Mirabelle up, into his arms, and set her on his lap. Her legs wrapped around his waist as she cried into his shoulder.

“It’s okay. Shh. Everything will be fine.” He whispered, continuously rubbing Mirabelle’s back. Harry could feel his shirt becoming wet with Mirabelle’s tears.

“Harry, what if I’ve killed someone?” Mirabelle sobbed, her shivering not decreasing one bit.

Harry frowned. “Think for a second, Mirabelle. Would you really kill someone?”
Mirabelle only continued to cry.

Harry sighed.

“Mirabelle?”

“What?” she whined, her teeth chattering.

“Do you remember anything about your past?”

Mirabelle froze in Harry’s arms.

“You don’t, do you?” he confirmed softly, putting his hands to her lower back to support her, so she wouldn’t fall off his lap.

“No.” she answered, keeping her head down.

“Do you think you may have somehow gotten amnesia?” Harry hummed, rubbing her back, as he knew Mirabelle found the action soothing.

“What’s that?” Mirabelle sniffled, rubbing her bloodshot eyes.

“It’s a form of memory loss. You may not be able to remember new events, recall one or more memories of the past, or both.”

“So I have a disease?” Mirabelle asked, completely disgusted.

“No,” “Sometimes your memory starts to come back and you can remember small events.”

“Sometimes?” Mirabelle asked cautiously.

“Well…”

“Well this is absolutely fantastic. I don’t think I can remember what my own father looks like, let alone his name. And do I even have brothers and sisters? I don’t even know.”

“But I thought you said you didn’t have any sib-“

“I lied, Harry.”

Harry figured so, and he wasn’t shocked.

“Why didn’t you just tell me you couldn’t remember anything?” Harry questioned, feeling a little hurt.

“Because,” Mirabelle sighed, “I thought you would think that I was even weirder than I was with my ugly eyes, and I thought you would stop taking a liking to me.”

“Who said I like you?” Harry snorted. Mirabelle looked up with wide eyes, which were brimming with new tears.

“You don’t?” She asked seriously.

Harry laughed at her cuteness, pulling her into his chest.

“I do not think you are weird,” he chuckled. Then he leaned closer to her ear, humming out an addition. “And for the record, you’re eyes make you look gorgeous.”

Mirabelle’s heart fluttered at how Harry had emphasized “gorgeous.” Though she could not remember, she was very sure that she hadn’t even been called “good-looking” in her life. But when Harry told her, she suddenly felt as if she were on top of the world.

---

The next day, Mirabelle was quiet. She didn’t talk much, still quite worried about the news report from the day before. Harry gave her space, but quickly got bored from Mirabelle being in her room most of the day. He decided to change things the day after.

Harry easily cheered Mirabelle up by stopping by the donut shop early the next morning, bringing her home a box of donuts. She dug in happily, thanking Harry with her beautiful smile.

Harry loved seeing Mirabelle smile, and it didn’t happen often.

“Have I evah muchunnd how mush oy vov donuchs?” Mirabelle moaned, her mouth stuffed with the icing covered bread. Harry had ordered extra sprinkles for the donuts as well.

“Quite a few times, love.” Harry chuckled, rubbing his neck with a throaty laugh.

“But you know, I believe the strawberry donuts are the most delicious. “

“Are you trying to tell me something, Mirabelle?” Harry teased, winking at her.

Mirabelle rolled her eyes. “Clearly I am, or your just very stupid.”

Harry loved the way Mirabelle’s strong British accent gave her dialogue such a rich tone. Harry really liked the sound of her voice.

“We should do something fun today.” Harry suggested suddenly.

“Like what?”

“How about we go for a swim?”

Mirabelle looked at Harry as if he were crazy. “It’s cold, Harry. Very cold.”

“That’ll just make it all the better.” He winked.

“But I haven’t got a swimsuit.” Mirabelle whined.

“I may or may not have a few of my sisters left from her visits.”

“But my cut isn’t healed yet.” Mirabelle pointed out, trying to hide the real reason why she didn’t want to swim.

“Oh.” Harry said, his face dropping. “Good point.”

“Sorry.” Mirabelle sighed, pushing away her breakfast plate.

“Let’s play twenty questions, then.” Harry suggested, “Since we both know now the reasonable explanation to all your forgotten thoughts. We’ll try to jog your memory. “

“Alright.” Mirabelle answered hesitantly.

The two moved over to the large sofas, where they sat comfortably ready to work Mirabelle’s mind up.

Harry went through a series of questions, like what her room may have looked liked, to her house, to her neighborhood. He asked about possible friends, siblings, and adults guardians.

Two hours later, Harry and Mirabelle lay on the sofa, having given up and completely exhausted.

“It was worth a shot.” Harry shrugged after a while.

“Just don’t even pretend that wasn’t a waste of time.” Mirabelle groaned, rubbing her eyes.

“Hey, nothing is ever a waste of time if it was done or a good purpose.” Harry protested, sitting up of the sofa. Mirabelle just sighed.

“Oh my god. I am so dumb.” Harry mumbled suddenly. Mirabelle shot him a confused look.

“I should take you bowling.” He said, sitting up straight.

“What? What is that?” Mirabelle questioned, sitting up as well.

Harry slapped his forehead. “Okay. I am definitely taking you bowling.”

Mirabelle laughed lightly. “Alright. When?”

“Now, Mirabelle. Now.” Harry laughed, getting up and pushing her towards her room.
As Harry bought two day passes for him and Mirabelle, Mirabelle stood quietly next to him, rocking back and forth on her feet. Harry smiled and handed the woman at the counter his credit card, receiving it back quickly.

“Have a nice day, you two.” The woman smiled. “By the way, you guys are an adorable couple.”

Harry watched as Mirabelle tensed at her words.

“Let’s go.” He said, as if he hadn’t heard the woman’s remark.

He took Mirabelle by the wrist and led her to an empty bowling alley, inserting some bowling balls from the shelf, into the holder.

“Alright. How do I do this?” Mirabelle giggled quietly, picking up a bowling ball.

Here. Let me show you.” Harry said. He made Mirabelle hold the ball in one hand, moving each of her fingers into an open hole in the ball.

“Now, how do I get it down the lane?” Mirabelle asked, examining the bowling ball and looking up at the bowling lane, trying to figure out how they were in relation. Harry chuckled.

“I guess I’ll show you that, too.”

They both made their way up to the area where the wood floor met the slick bowling lane. Without a second thought, Harry got behind Mirabelle and pressed his body against hers, holding the base of the ball that she held.

“Now, take your hand back like this,” he instructed, moving her arm back with the motion of his. “And then let it slide.” He added, both Mirabelle and Harry letting go off the ball. The bowling ball rolled straight through the middle pin, giving them a strike.

“Nice job!” Harry cheered, giving Mirabelle a high-five. “Now you try yourself.”

Mirabelle grabbed another ball, repeating the actions just as Harry had taught her.

Her ball rolled straight into the gutter.

“I’m no good at this.” She said immediately.

“Hey now. Don’t give up that quick. Trust me, it will get better.”

Mirabelle sighed but grabbed yet another ball, preparing to fail yet again.

---

Two hours later, Mirabelle was beating Harry at bowling.

“Another strike!” Mirabelle cheered as she watched the fallen bowling pins get swept up. Harry sat at the nearby table, playfully putting his head in his hands. Neither Mirabelle nor Harry had expected her to catch on so quick. Oh but she had.

“I need one more strike and I win the game.” Mirabelle pointed out, looking up at the television screen which displayed the total scores of each of the two.

“Come on now. Don’t boast.” Harry teased, standing up to bowl. Mirabelle giggled taking his spot in the seat.

Mirabelle ended the game with a triple strike.

Harry and Mirabelle spent the entire day at the bowling alley, taking a quick break for lunch before getting back to countless rematches. Harry realized Mirabelle really enjoyed this as a hobby. So she was the donut and bowling type of girl. Interesting.

At least seven hours later, Harry and Mirabelle sat at a nearby table, each of their arms worn out from the intense bowling.

“I think that deserves some food.” Harry grinned. Mirabelle nodded.

“I’m quite hungry.” She agreed.

“What are you in the mood for?” Harry asked, as the two of them headed to his Range Rover.
“Donuts.” Mirabelle answered honestly, with a straight face.

“Are you for real right now?” Harry smirked, watching as Mirabelle began to grin.

“Just joking.” She said. Harry rolled his eyes with a grin, opening the passenger door of his car which they had approached.

Harry began the drive to their destination for dinner. He was taking Mirabelle to his favorite Mexican restaurant in London. Mirabelle softly hummed to a song which played on the radio. Suddenly, Harry froze.

This was their song.

One Direction’s song.

What Makes You Beautiful.

Oh. No.

Mirabelle stopped humming for a second just when Harry’s solo came on. Harry focused on the road.

“This boy sounds exactly like you.” Mirabelle said suspiciously, eyeing Harry. Harry kept his eyes glued to the road.

“Probably just our voices that are alike. That’s all.” Harry shrugged.

“No. Harry. He sounds exactly like you.”

Harry was surprised by Mirabelle’s persistent attitude.

“That’s not me, Mirabelle. I’m sure of it.”

“Fine.” Mirabelle huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

When Harry and Mirabelle entered the restaurant, they were greeted by a lady at the front. When she saw Harry, she shot him a wink. Harry forced himself to not roll his eyes.

“Table for two?” the lady asked sweetly. She looked to be in her early twenties or so, twirling her hair as if she thought it would attract Harry.

“Yes.” Mirabelle answered, when he saw Harry not planning on answering first.

The lady nodded and led them to a table for two in the corner.

She handed each of them a menu after they had took their seats.

“What would you two like to drink?” she asked in a much to high voice, staring directly at Harry.

“Erm, I’ve take a medium sized margarita.”

“And for you?” the waitress asked Mirabelle, looking down as she wrote down Harry’s order.
“I’ll just have a glass of water.” Mirabelle answered, feeling uncomfortable. The waitress always asked for their food orders, staring at Harry as she licked her lips. This made Mirabelle squirm.

She watched as the waitress winked at Harry, purposely brushing past him as she walked off.

“Well she’s definitely not getting a tip.” Harry muttered, looking up at Mirabelle. She sat stiffly in her seat.

“May I ask you something?” Mirabelle said, cocking her head.

“Of course you can.” Harry smiled, telling her to go on.

“Is this a…a date?” Mirabelle questioned, keeping a straight and serious face.

“No.” Harry answered quickly. “It’s only dinner.”

“O-okay.” Mirabelle said hesitantly, keeping her head down.

When their food and drinks came, Mirabelle took her drink to advantage, constantly sipping her water so she could avoid talking to Harry. She chewed her quesadilla, kicking her feet under the table. Harry didn’t understand why Mirabelle was suddenly so quiet .She had been perfectly fine at the bowling alley, and now she had gone mute. Harry knew he would need a lot of time to completely figure this girl out.

“I think she is scary, if you must know.” Mirabelle sighed, crunching down on a tortilla chip.

“And why is that?” Harry chuckled.

“Because, she shows off too much. She needs to get a decent shirt, and please do not get me started on the skimpy skirt.” Mirabelle answered honestly, looking down at her food.

Harry laughed, gulping down a spoon of Mexican rice.

“Well if you must know, I don’t think she is very attractive, either.” Harry replied, just as honest. He too agreed that the lady needed to cover up. Her face was loaded with useless makeup that made her face look like a work of art gone absolutely wrong.

“She looks like she has crayon on her face.” Mirabelle giggled, as if she could read his mind. Harry cracked a grin, sipping at his margarita.

“What would you like to do after this?” Harry asked, biting down on his taco.

“I want to watch more television.” Mirabelle replied, putting a straw to her mouth the drink water.

“How about a movie night?” Harry suggested, giving Mirabelle a lopsided grin.

“That sounds like a –“

“Oh my god! It’s Harry Styles!” A girl squealed, running up to Harry’s and Mirabelle’s table. Harry stiffened, his eyes going wide as he stared at the young teenager running towards him with a blank paper in her hand.

“I am such a huge fan!” the girl babbled, fanning herself. “Can I get an autograph?”

Harry forced a smile onto his face, slipping out of his seat. “Of course. What’s your name love?”

“I’m Annie.” She grinned, handing Harry a paper and a pen.

Harry quickly scribbled a message onto the paper, signing it at the end.

“Here you go, love.” He smiled, handing it back to the girl.

“Thank you, Harry! May I get a hug?” she asked, rocking on her feet, the way Mirabelle always did.

“Sure.” Harry laughed, giving the girl a hug. She praised him one last time before leaving the scene.

“What the fuck was that?” Mirabelle growled, her teeth clenched. Harry held in a gasp; Mirabelle had never cursed before, and it sounded hot.

“That was you on the radio, wasn’t it? You are a famous load of shit, aren’t you?” Mirabelle spat, pushing her plate of food away.

This was what Harry was afraid of. He knew Mirabelle would misjudge him for a stuck up celebrity. This was why he hadn’t wanted to tell her.

“Do you think I’m going to fall for your tricks so easily? Just because you’re famous doesn’t mean you can take me home and expect me to love you. I bet you do think of this as a date.” Mirabelle snorted sarcastically, scooting her chair back. By now, everyone was staring at them.

“Mirabelle, please calm down.”

“No.” she barked, standing up.

Harry watched as she walked out of the restaurant. He couldn’t leave her to walk out on the streets of London all alone. Quickly, Harry threw some money on the table and ran after Mirabelle.

Her lean figure was fast, faster than Harry had ever expected.

“Mirabelle, wait up!” Harry yelled. They were getting farther and farther away from the restaurant, and Harry’s car. Mirabelle’s feet moved quickly, skipping a few lines of sidewalk every few seconds. She needed to get away from Harry.

“Mirabelle, stop!”

Mirabelle couldn’t stop herself. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t just trust some famous man who probably made a hundred girls faint ever second. He would forget her, anyways. Mirabelle knew she wasn’t important to him.

“Mirabelle!”

She was surprised he was keeping up. She could still hear his footsteps behind her.

“Mirabelle, I’m not stuck up. I’m not the famous ‘load of shit’ you think I am!” Harry yelled, trying to catch up with her. That was when he saw Mirabelle trip over an uneven portion on the sidewalk, falling face first onto the concrete.

“Ouch.” She muttered, flipping herself over to examine her scraped leg. Her chin hurt a bit, but a little damage wouldn’t hurt. She was already ugly anyways.

“Mirabelle! Are you alright?” Harry gasped, reaching her. He squatted down, meeting her eye level.

“I’m fine.” Mirabelle yelled back. The dark night sky made it hard for either of the two teenagers to see what her knee looked like. All Mirabelle knew was that it hurt. Her elbow was scratched up as well.

“Mirabelle, you need to stop hurting yourself.” Harry shook his head. Mirabelle took deep breaths, trying to steady her heart beat.

“That was quite a run, wasn’t it?” she exhaled, wiping her chin. Sure enough, she could see red blood on her hand.

“Oh, you’re bleeding.” Harry noticed. He pressed his thumb to her chin, wiping away the blood.

“Are you feeling okay?” Harry asked, sitting down beside her on the sidewalk.

“I told you. I’m fine.”

“I don’t understand why you think I would use you, or think of you as someone who was ‘easy’.” Harry huffed.

“Every celebrity is like that.” Mirabelle declared stubbornly, wiping away a small tear.

“Are you crying?” Harry asked softly. “Please don’t cry, love.”

“I’m not your love, Harry? I already told you that!” Mirabelle exclaimed, with a frown. She wiped away another tear.

“Sorry, sorry.” Harry apologized.

“Now, go away. I can handle myself.” Mirabelle demanded, pointing back towards the restaurant which seemed at least a mile away.

“I’m not leaving you.” Harry insisted, grabbing her wrist gently.

“Don’t touch me.” Mirabelle spat, shaking out of his grasp. Those were the familiar words she had said to him no more than a week ago. Her guards were building up again.

“Mirabelle, I will not hurt you.” Harry whispered, pulling at his hair.

“How do I know that?” she huffed, turning her shoulder to Harry.

“What I have I done to make you think that I would hurt you? Have I not taken care of you properly? Have I not comforted you when you felt down? Have I ever hurt you before?”

“You did tonight.” Mirabelle answered.

Harry’s heart dropped at her words. She was right. Maybe he should have told her in the first place.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Harry?” Mirabelle whispered, her voice squeaky from crying.

“Because I knew you would misjudge me, Mirabelle. The way you did tonight.” He gulped, trying to get Mirabelle to look at him.

“So now this is my fault?” Mirabelle raised her voice.

“No. I’m just saying.” Harry assured, squeezing his fists.

“Well, then.” Mirabelle scoffed, standing up. “I want to go home.”

Harry sighed and stood up.

They began their silent walk, and eventually, drive, back home.

Mirabelle ignored Harry all night.

Just like Harry had expected.