‘Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms’

Laila’s POV

We got into my room and Bernie sat on the armchair until she finished reading her play. I shook my head from time to time trying to dispel the recent memories. I murdered her in my mind a thousand times. Her timing was so wrong. But she is my best friend since infancy and even though Shakespeare wasn’t the reason I did not want her to go lunch with the boys, I’m glad she finally dropped the idea. She’s very protective of me but, paradoxically, she’s outgoing so she risks herself too much.

How will I face Harry now? I can tell: I’m going mental. I get so flustered when he is around. I just can’t think straight. And he fancies me. Harry Styles fancies me. He wanted to kiss me, twice. This is utterly insane. Our classmates literally drool over him and Harry doesn’t even seem to realise it. But he’s conscious… I know he’s conscious of the effect he has on people, especially women.

“So, any news from him?” Bernie asks me as she sees me laying down with my iPhone in my hand.

“No, nothing. Do you think I acted too cold towards him?” I felt shy and out of place before, but now I only want to talk to him.

“Laila, you are rushing in–––she speaks after swallowing the last bite of her sandwich. There’s no need for that. It’s not like he’s disappearing from your life…” She’s right. We are classmates after all.

“Says who wants to jump on Zayn’s lap so badly…” I say cheekily, straightening up on my bed.

“How could someone that good looking not have yet been kidnapped by anyone?” She asks holding her arms. I can tell he made quite an impression on her. I think I’ve never seen her like this before. She was radiant after we met him and in some sort of sugar rush, so she drove us home pretty quickly.

“Well, you’ll have the chance to go extreme with him on saturday,” I say and the idea of spending an entire night with Harry makes my body tremble from head to toe.

“Laila, you’ll think I’m delusional, but I have the strange feeling that our lives will never be the same.” I look at her and start laughing very hard. “Yes, I know, too dramatic…–––she laughs again. Are you going to tell Georgiana to come with us to the party?”

“Yes, definitely. I’m sure there’s going to be other girls, but we need backups,” I observe.

“Are you speaking of me, lovelies?” Georgiana says entering the room and sitting on the end of my bed.

“Are you free on saturday?” I ask her. She usually goes out with her college friends.

“Why? What’s happening on saturday?” She asks, quite puzzled.

“We have a party to attend…” I proudly say.

“A party? And with whom, if I may ask?”

“Harry’s friends.” I claim.

“What? Has something new happened?” She asks rising her voice in anxiety, looking at me and then to Bernie.

“Definitely so–––Bernie replies with a board grin on her face. When I arrived to the University this morning they were about to kiss!” She exclaims. Georgiana seems perplex.

“Is that true, Laila? Again?–––she snaps. He fancies you so!” I can’t stand the nervousness so I bury my face in one of my cushions.

“Yes–––Bernie says. And he said out loud that he hopes not to be interrupted next time he’ll try to kiss her,” she explains. I feel my cheeks turn red.

“Oh, God, baby sister! Did he tell you that? Did you talk about it later?”

“No, I would say things went quite cold after that,” I mutter, knowing my attitude at the time doesn’t make me feel very proud. I was so scared.

“But why?” She asks.

“First, he didn’t want to come to the cafe with us…” I explain.

“But it is so obvious he won’t go because of you–––Georgiana speaks to Bernie. You should have allowed them some time alone.”

“But she didn’t want to!” Bernie defends herself.

“Well, then you force her!” Georgiana protests. She always thinks she knows what I need better than I do.

“Well, next time I’ll do it,” Bernie says, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Well, carry on. What was the second reason?” Georgiana asks, looking towards me one more time.

“When we got out of our lecture his friends were waiting for him at the building door,” I say.

“Oh, I see–––she mumbles, frowning her eyebrows. And did he act surprised when he saw them?”

“Surprised and quite annoyed, to be truthful…” I point out.

“So he spoke to his friends about you…” She deducts. She loves to play Sherlock.

“What are you saying?–––I groan. How could you possibly know that for a fact?”

“Friends showing up out of nothing; the guy, pissed off… It is so evident. They were curious about you, little Laila,” she explains and, for some reason, it makes a lot of sense. “Well, tell me about these friends and this party on saturday,” she carries on after a pause.

“Georgiana, please believe me if I tell you they are all gorgeous,” Bernie speaks full of emotion.

“I believe you; you are quite picky with lads,” Georgiana says turning on her direction.

“And they’re in a band, indie rock, I think–––I say. I don’t know the name, though.” There is so much I ignore about Harry.

“That’s sounds fine. But, what is in it for me?” Georgiana asks intrigued.

“Based on our experience, probably the love of your life…–––Bernie retorts. Well, at least, good music, drinking and some drugs. Can you settle for that?” They both laugh. And I’m the one rushing things in.

“Count me in,” Georgiana speaks very sure of what she’s saying.

“Zayn is texting as we speak!–––she exclaims as she gets up from the armchair, holding her mobile between both hands. He says: ‘Meet you girls on saturday 10PM at Niall and I’s flat’ on some address in Stratford. ‘Can’t wait to see you.’–––she reads. Oh, good gracious Lord!” Bernie says, letting her body fall down into the armchair again.

“What are you texting back?” Georgiana asks.

“‘Don’t worry, guys. We’ll be there 10PM sharp’… Is that all right?”

“Just perfect,” Georgiana answers.

“He says all the boys are still together, except Harry, that left earlier…–––she says while reading. He says that Louis and Liam send you a kiss, Laila… Oh, Harry is not going to like this…” She finally says looking at me with an amused expression on her face.

“You little piece of a flirt, Laila!–––Georgiana jokes as she peaks my belly. Leave someone for your poor sister!”

“You can still have Niall, Georgiana–––Bernie explains. He’s irish.”

“I like irishmen…” Georgiana grimaces.

“And it’s just thursday!” Bernie moans.

“So, Laila, are you going to call Harry?”

–.–.–

Harry’s POV

When I arrived home all I had on my mind was to speak to Laila, but I didn’t know what to say to her. It seemed she didn’t want to talk about the whole kiss thing. But I just could not quit it. I felt menaced by Louis and Liam and was not very pleased about the idea of that party at Zayn and Niall’s, even less when I was planning on ask her out on a date that very day. I needed to talk to somebody but Gemma was still at work.

I sat at my desk near the window, put on some Bowie’s record and started to work on my essay. After a while I hear the flat door open and then slam shut. Gemma has just arrived. She soon appears at my bedroom door, strategically left open.

“Little brother, was college fine?” She says with irony.

“Are you still mad at me about what happened yesterday?–––I ask her. Because you got it all wrong. I don’t even care about Miss Franzen…” I try to explain myself. Yes, she is a beauty but I don’t prefer her over Laila. Laila is a thousand times better than Miss Franzen because she is real to me.

“Oh, and I’m supposed to believe you, Harry.” She grimaces, crossing her arms.

“Gemma, you are my sister–––I say feeling extremely hurt by her harsh tone. Give me some sort of credit. If you don’t believe in me, how can I expect Laila to do it?”

“I’m sorry, Harry. I guess I got carried on–––she says. Laila sounds so fine.”

“And she is fine–––I claim as I get up from my chair. And I want her.” I see Gemma’s eyes light up. “And you are getting to know her on saturday if you come to the party at Zayn’s–––I say and she smiles. But I don’t know what to do. She seems so scared of me…”

“She’s a clever girl, Harry–––Gemma explains. She senses you. Perhaps she felt for you but that doesn’t mean she’s unaware of your looks and your edge with women of all sorts.”

“I’ve rushed in and I don’t know what to do to get closer again without scaring her,” I speak quietly.

“What did you do this time?” Gemma asks, worried.

“I almost kissed her this morning,” I mutter.

“Again?” She snaps. I glare at her. After a grin, a cough and a brief pause, she carries on. “What about this girl and morning kisses? Sincerely, it sounds so not you.”

“I don’t know. Don’t laugh at me. I feel quite lost,” I say in a serious tone.

“What do you want, Harry? What do you need?–––she tries to ratiocinate with me. Do you want to talk to her? Go back to the basics. What did you do that first morning at the Library?”

“I read and we spoke about literature…” I say and the memory makes me smile.

“So you just do that, little brother.” She is so patient with me. And she can be so wise.

–.–.–

“What’s you favourite play from Shakespeare?” I ask Laila without even greeting her.

“I can’t choose a star in the heavens…” She says, puzzled, and it sounds like a line in some movie I don’t remember. I can’t help but laugh.

“Well, choose one but we won’t make it official…” I joke.

“Then I would say ‘Much ado about nothing.’ At least, lately. My all time classic is ‘Romeo and Juliet’ and proud of it,” she declares with determination.

“I got nothing against ‘Romeo and Juliet.’–––I speak. And I’d be an ass if I don’t honestly say I love it, read it all the time and quote it quite often.”

“Well, that surprising. And now is the time you tell me you love Jane Austen…” She ironises.

“Well, of course I love Jane Austen–––I firmly claim. Read all her books when I was very young and reread it as much as I can. My Austen’s favourite novel is ‘Emma’ because I’m quite a matchmaker myself…” She’d never see that coming.

“And what about ‘Wuthering Heights’?” She asks after a brief pause to recompose herself.

“I let you guess that one…” I say cheekily.

“Fine. You love it–––she blurts. What about poetry? You told me about Wordsworth and Coleridge, but what else do you like, let’s say, foreigners, for instance?” She challenges.

“I’m in some sort of exam? Because I like to be tested…” I provocatively say.

“Just tell me.” She sounds almost angry. I dare to say Gemma’s advice is working.

“Fine. I love french ‘maudits,’ especially Baudelaire, Verlaine, Rimbaud and Mallarmé,” I list.

“And from Italy?” She asks.

“Well, Dante, Petrarca, Torcuato Tasso and I’m irretrievably in love with Giacomo Leopardi.”

“Oh, I love him too–––she says with enthusiasm. I wish I could speak italian just to read his works. He’s so profound yet not surly.” God, she is so clever.

“We should go to Recanati–––I blurt out of the blue. That would be great.” That would be the greatest thing in the world. To travel with Laila.

“Oh, yes. I’d love to do a European cultural trip–––she says. My family travels a lot but they are not very artsy people so, when we go to Rome, I have to sneak out to see the real Rome…”

“And what is the ‘real’ Rome?” I boldly ask.

“The Rome of the milliard fountain spots where you can drink for free. The Rome of the cracked paint on the walls. The Rome of the balconies full of flowers and plants and the inner ‘patios’…” She says in a dreamy voice, in some sort of trance as if she’s seeing it as we speak. “I’m sorry. I tend to be a bit overwhelming when I talk about things I’m passionate about.”

“Please, continue–––I mumble almost in a prayer. You know I understand you too well.”

“I love Rome’s cobblestones but it makes my ankles hurt,” she carries on.

“I’ll carry you around.” She laughs and it’s contagious.

“I love the quick coffees everywhere, but especially at Sant’Eustachio,” she says.

“I love it too–––I say. Very early in the morning, when the tourists are still in their beds.” I explain. I close my eyes and I can see that white morning light, not sunny yet.

“Do you know Sant’Eustachio?” She mutters as if she is still dreaming.

“I go every time when in Rome,” I say.

“Why are we speaking about Rome?” She asks regaining her senses.

“I’d say because of the Colosseum,” I ironise.

“I prefer the Teatro Di Marcello. Nobody’s around,” she declares.

“Yes, and afterwards eat ‘carciofi alla giudia’ at some Jewish restaurant.”

“I love ‘carciofi alla giudia’…” She mumbles to make a brief pause, then sighs. I’m grabbing my phone so tightly my hand is trembling. “Harry, do you feel it too…?” She asks finally dropping her guard down.

“Yes, I do…”

–.–.–

Notes

'I think I falling, I'm falling for you...' Oh, yes! They are quite excentrical.

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