‘Her eye discourses’

Laila’s POV

As Class Delegate I was asked by the Students’ Office to welcome this new lad to our University. Who is he anyway? Why are they taking so much trouble with him? Semester has just begun. I don’t think he needs a babysitter, because, well, he’s at least twenty years old. He was already attending to the University in Manchester. He just moved to London. No big deal.

Anyway, he’s late. I have a lecture in fifteen minutes, and so is he. But I’ve been waiting on this cafe for almost twenty minutes now. I keep checking my watch. Making me wait is so rude of him. I think I hate him already. Suddenly my attention is drawn to a very tall, dark haired boy walking towards me with a cup on each hand. Maybe that’s him. He’s looking at me. Oh, my, that is him. Oh, no, he’s drop dead gorgeous.

As he continues to walk over I instinctively take a look at my clothes. I’m such a disaster this morning. I was running late for this particular meeting so I put on the first things that crossed my sight. A loose fit denim trousers, a navy blue polka dot buttoned top, some old oxford shoes and a light green anorak. It’s quite cold today, this early in the morning. When I look up he’s just in front of me with a smirk on his face. Oh, I just hate you, new lad.

“I was told by the lovely lady over there––he says pointing at Emilia behind the bar––that you are Laila Coleman and Lapsang Souchong is your favourite tea.” He leaves one of the cups in front of me, beside my copy of ‘Swann’s Way.’ As I’m about to speak, he interrupts me. “Please, let me introduce myself. I’m Harry Styles. I’m sorry I’m late. I know it’s not an excuse, but I missed the bus. I’m new to this city.” Oh, I should hate you, Mister, but…

“It’s fine, I can relate––I say smiling at him. We don’t have much time but, would you like to sit down?”

“Thank you, Laila. You are too kind,” he says, taking a sip from his cup and looking at the book on the table. “So, you’re reading good old Proust.” He takes the book between his large hands and softly touches the cover. I can’t stop staring at him. There’s just something about the way he moves.

“Yes, I am. I just started, but I can tell I’m falling in love already…” I mumble. His eyes are so green. It’s like a forest. I could get lost in there. Then, he grins mischievously, taking me from my meditations. “With the book––I blurt. With Proust. Well, Swann,” I explain myself, very nervous. What am I saying? He’ll think I’m absolutely mental.

“Yeah, I know…” he says, smirking a bit, resting his head on his hand. “So, you fancy losers…”.

“Swann is not a loser!” I say almost angry at him.

“Yeah, I know he’s not. I was trying to determinate how deeply in love you are.” Damn you, Harry Styles. Quit playing mind games on me.

“We should get going,” I say, getting up from my chair, still nervous. If we go to the classroom at least I might hide from him somehow.

“I was thinking on a tour, perhaps, Laila…” he says, batting his eyelashes. He’s so charming, and he can be so cute too. No, Laila, go to the classroom. You can’t miss your lecture, Laila. “Do you want to show me around?”

“Where do you want to go?” I ask him, surrendering at his demand. Why does he have to be this beautiful? I could just stare at him for hours. And he is so clever. And he reads. What are his flaws? He must have flaws as any of us. He can’t be this perfect.

“What about the Library?” He replies.

“This way…” I say, not looking at him. “See you later, Emilia.” She raises her hand.

“Be good, children,” she says playfully. Thank you so much, Emilia. Now he must be certain I fancy him.

–.–.–

We have this open-shelf system here at the University, so Harry and I’ve been wandering a while around the corridors, speaking quietly, giggling from time to time, looking at books. There’s nobody around. Everybody is in their courses at this moment; there’s only Josephine at the front desk, far away from us, and some people at the reading tables.

We’re sitting on the wooden floor, side by side. Harry has been reading some philosophic poetry to me. His voice is so deep, so raspy, perfect for the job. His whisper is so mesmerising. I do my best to listen to him without proper looking at him. Instead I stare at some distant point in front of me. I try not to give him my full attention. I don’t want him to notice that I have this sudden, biggest crush on him. I feel so silly. It’s been a while since I felt something like this and the last time it happened nothing worked out as I expected. Are you insane, Laila? You know him for about two hours. Harry turns the pages as if he was touching a delicate flower. Oh, God, now he’s reading again, and this time it’s a poem I love.

The world is too much with us; late and
soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our
powers:
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid
boon.
This sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The wind that will be howling at all
hours,
And are up-gather’s now like sleeping
flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not.––Great God! I’d rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less
forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed
horn.

“I love Wordsworth,” he murmurs after he finishes to read, resting his head on the bookshelf, curls falling on the side. His hair looks so silky. It must be so soft. Oh, just to bury my hand in his mop of hair.

“Apparently, Literature students we fall in love too easily,” I say, carrying on his game. He giggles.

“And quite hard, I’d say,” he speaks right into my eyes. Now I’m getting nervous again. What is he thinking? He’s so hard to read.

“And for the strangest things…” I mumble, looking down, just to fill the awkward silence.

“Yeah, I know what you mean… I love the fact Wordsworth feminises the sea. You know, in spanish, for instance, the gender is masculine.” He laughs closing his eyes, shaking his head ‘no’.

“Why are you studying Literature, Harry? If I may ask you,” I say out of the blue.

“Because I’m passionate about words,” he answers. He’s looking at me again with half-shut eyes. “And what about you, Laila?” He asks me, slightly leaning down towards me.

“The same…” I stammer.

“Well, I guess we could say we are very passionate people,” he says very slowly, bending over me. All of a sudden I can feel his hot breath on the tip of my nose. Is he going to kiss me? But we just met… Oh, my God. I want him so badly.

“Laila…” I can’t restrain a jump as I hear Josephine calling my name quietly from the central corridor. Harry straightens up his torso as I got on my feet.

“Yes?” I say in a low tone. Harry is still on the floor.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. Maddy is looking for you,” she says, appearing from behind a bookshelf.

“It’s fine. I was going anyway,” I say looking at him. His gaze is a bit dark right now but I don’t know why. “Nice to meet you, Harry. See you in the classroom.” I grab my leather bag and turning on my heals I leave.

As I walk over the building to the Students’ Office I can’t stop repeating on my mind what just happened. Harry. Have I ever met someone like him before? I guess I have a ton of classmates into literature as much as Harry and I, but no one looks like him. He seems so fit. I could almost see the lines of his muscles beneath his t-shirt. He’s like a greek god. And his eyes. And his lips, so full, so pink. And his chin, so masculine. He looks positively like a movie star.

“I think you should thank me, dear…” Maddy says resting both of her arms on the front desk when I cross the crystal door.

“I don’t follow you. What for, Maddy?” I ask her.

“Harry Styles? It was my idea, honey,” she explains to me.

“Well, now I finally understand, Maddy. I was asking myself why the Dean’s Office or the Faculty were taking so much trouble with him.”

“Oh, dear, neither of them has anything to do with it. He’s too gorgeous just to let him simply walk on.” I’ve known Maddy for a long time and I just adore her. She’s like a mother to all students.

“Oh, my, he is. Isn’t he?” I say, laughing very hard, letting all the tension out.

“If only I was younger. And not married. And not mother of three…” she says.

“Maybe in another life…”

“You can bet on it, child. But, do you know what I thought when I met him the other week? You see, he’s such a charming boy. Well, I thought he might handle it, to date an older woman. He seems so self confident. Do you know what I mean?” She explains herself.

“Well, he’s definitely very charming as far as I know,” I tell her with a board grin.

“Did he asked you out?” She questions me curiously.

“Good bye, Maddy. See you later,” I roll my eyes at her.

“You better tell me when he does, missy,” she says pointing her finger at me.

“Love you, Maddy,” I say as I walk away from the desk.

“See you later, nonny.”

–.–.–

As always I arrive to the classroom five minutes earlier and I sit on my usual place. Bernie hasn’t come today and I can’t find Harry anywhere. I can’t wait to get home and tell Georgiana about him. The teacher works on some papers sitting on the desk in front of us. Suddenly the classroom door opens and I see Harry’s head appear behind it.

“I’m sorry. Is this the Shakespeare’s seminar?” he speaks drawing everyone’s attention.

“You are late, Mister…?” She talks to him as she removes her glasses to take a better look on him. Everybody’s staring and I can hear the girls’ whispers all around.

“Harry Styles,” he says, almost proud.

“Hmm, the new student from Manchester. Welcome, Mister Styles. You may take a sit,” she says and readjusts her glasses. He looks towards the classroom as if he was searching for something. Then he sees me and begins to walk on my direction. I hear the whispers all over again. I shyly smile at him as he sits down beside me.

“Hello, there,” he says in a husky tone.

“Quiet, please,” the teacher says bending down her head and gazing above her glasses. We both nod. She can be so bossy sometimes. Well, most of it. “I see you already made a friend––she ironises. Good morning, Miss Coleman,” she speaks directly at me. I simply nod again. “And from now on, Mister Styles––she carries on, arrive to the classroom on time or I will not let you in.”

“As you will, Miss Franzen,” he smirks looking at his notes. She gives him a severe glance and he giggles at his lap.

“Well, students, what were we talking about last week?” She speaks as she gets up from the desk, fixing her dark grey pencil skirt. She seems so arrogant. I don’t quite like her but I like the way she dresses. She looks so professional. I wish I could look like that. What am I saying? She is sort of ten years older than me. I could never look like her. You have to shag a lot to look like her, to have that allure… What is wrong with me today? I’m delirious. I love Shakespeare but I only want this to end.

–.–.–

Notes

And this is how it starts...

Check out my other Fan Fiction here:

Dreaming Of You

I hope you enjoy.