Dreaming Of You // If I'm Still Dreaming

Thanks to Louis and Zayn I’m finally able to sneak out from the hotel without minders. It wasn’t that difficult though. I know I will get into trouble, but I need to see her by myself. Luckily there are no fans around. Well, nobody knows we are already in town. I fix my sunglasses and hail a taxi. I mumble the name of the bookstore to the driver, hoping he knows the place. He nods at me, so I understand he’s driving me there. I glance through the window. This city has such a particular light, so white and saturated. I have to come sometime when it’s not this sunny. It has to look completely different. Why am I rambling? She’s just minutes away from me and I can’t take the uneasiness away. She’ll be so mad at me for lying to her. She seems so open and warm. It’s not for anybody to invite a pen pal to stay at your house without even knowing her name. I pinch my lower lip as I see Notre Dame de Paris. She said I always have to keep the reference to the river and then I’ll never get lost. I know once we have crossed the bridge she’ll be there, just a few steps away.

I pay and get out of the taxi. The bookstore is right there, to my left. Nobody looks at me as I walk towards the door. My all black attire seems to camouflage me well. I guess she refers to this when she says lately I look as an accursed poet. No bandana. No fedora. No ponytail. She said she’d be inside wearing a buttoned white shirt and a nude lace skirt. What if I don’t find her or don’t recognise her? I look at my watch. I’m almost five minutes late. I glance through the window. It seems so dark inside compared to the shinny day on the outside. Then I lightly perceive the contrast of a fair figure against the wooden shelves and the covers of the books. I gulp. I can’t back off now. We’ve got this far… She’s just a girl, a mysterious one, but a girl after all. What do I have to lose?

I enter the bookstore and walk towards where I just saw her. As I approach her from behind I see her left forearm with her white shirt pulled up above her elbow, then her shoulder, then her light brown, coppery hair, as Zayn said it was. She’s not as tiny as I pictured her, although she’s not tall either, around 5 foot 7. I can see her delicate skirt and her softly toned calves. She wears brown leather Oxford shoes. I glimpse around and there’s nobody else, but she hasn’t sensed my presence yet. She lightly shrugs and I flinch. I want to turn around and run, but I’m as glued to the floor. I can see she holds a clutch bag with her arm and she has a book on her right hand. Suddenly she takes a step backwards and turns, almost bumping into me. I gently grab her elbow as she looks up. My heart is pounding violently. All I can see are her hazel, greenish eyes widen in confusion as she recognises me now I have taken my sunglasses off. I zoom out to her face. She’s paralysed, frowning her straight eyebrows, tightly holding the book in her right hand against her chest. She begins to shiver and takes a step back away from me. She may not appear any more French than she does, with her long messy hair rolled to the side and her rosy cheeks. She has pouty lips with red gloss on and an adorable nose. I’m not able to contain a grin, even though she’ll totally hate me for that. I know I have to say something, but as I contemplate her I don’t seem to be capable of finding any words. How could I not remember her from London?

“What are you doing here?” She finally mutters.

“I wanted to meet you…” I mutter myself, fixated on her eyes. She doesn’t even blink.

“But, why?–––she blurts. And mainly, how?–––she says, exasperated. How do you know me? Do you know ILoveTommoBear?” She questions me. Her English is flawless; just a light accentuation of the last syllable on each sentence. She looks at me perplexed, but as her mind works fast she glares. “You are ILoveTommoBear! You’ve been playing with me all this time!–––she says raising her tone a bit. And you are peeping at your fans reading their Fan Fictions… You are deceiving them!” She points towards me with the book.

“And so are you,” I claim raising my hands on a defensive attitude.

“But I’m not their idol, for God’s sake–––she retorts. What am I doing here? I have to leave…” She drops the book on a table and passes by my side. I turn and walk after her, who’s crossing the entrance. The change of lights momentarily blinds me. Placing my hand before my eyes I see her just a few steps ahead.

“Wait,” I shout, sprinting after her and grabbing her by her elbow. She looks at my hand and then glance up to look me in the eye. Her skin is so soft and her eyes burn into mine more than the sun. “I really wanted to meet you–––I mumble. I don't know what’s going on with you, but I truly like what you wrote. I’m being sincere,” I explain to her, letting her arm go. She steps backwards, confused.

“I don’t get it. You are not supposed to read!” She exclaims and I frown at her.

“So you believe what mass media say about me…” I muse.

“I don’t know. I don’t know you!” She says, shaking her hand. The sunlight is falling generously over her and her hair seems lighter than before. I know I’m staring at her but I can’t look away. Because of the light the outline of her breast becomes slightly perceptible underneath her see-through, light woven shirt. If it didn’t have those pockets… And to make matters worse, by the quiver of the fabric when she moves I can tell she is not wearing any bra. I might be going to die. I take a deep intake of air after a too long pause in which she hasn’t left her spot.

“Why did you write all that then?” I ask, slowly recovering my train of thoughts.

“It’s complicated,” she says, and quickly turns away, beginning to walk towards the corner of the street.

“But I thought you liked me…” I manage to say, stepping forward.

“I’m writing my thesis about you…” She grumbles, walking still. I follow her. I can’t let her go.

“But don’t you like me anyway?” I ask, knowing I sound a bit desperate. But she seems too generous to make fun of me. She turns around the corner and stops abruptly.

“If I like you, you ask me. You are Harry Styles…” She observes. I like the way my name tinkles on her voice. It has a rhythm that moves me, so I smile.

“And that means…” I cheekily say. I couldn’t refrain it. I’m such a fool.

“You are a teenager heartthrob and I haven’t been a teenager in quite a while…” She ironises. Louis would love her.

“But I thought you liked me–––I say, helpless as she turns away and continues to walk. Those things you wrote about me… You told me we met in London and you’ve been craving for me since then,” I speak raising my voice while I see her leave.

“Is that why you are here?–––she asks, annoyed, turning back to glare at me. Because you think I want to fuck you?” I can tell she’s crossed.

“Well, won’t you?” I boldly ask, giving her lop-sided grin. At this point I have nothing to lose.

“Well, frankly I wouldn’t mind to–––she answers, startling me–––but that’s not the point…” Her eyebrows are still frowned but her expression softens a bit. I smile again.

“So you do want to sleep with me…” I assert, stepping towards her.

“Do you think you can come here and treat me like this?–––she blurts. Who do you think you are?” She begins to walk away as she finishes to speak.

“The guy you fantasise with…” I tell approaching her ear as we reach the corner. I stand in front of her, quickly passing her side. We are in the middle of a large street and in the distance I hear some strange noises.

“I’m so much more complex than that,” she says firmly.

There are some more bangs and she has noticed them too because she glances around, disconcerted. As she looks beside my shoulder her eyes widen. Suddenly her expression is full of panic. She must have seen something. I hear shouting and turn around, and then I see a large group of people running in different directions.

“Come on, run,” she says grabbing me by my hand and crossing the street, pulling from me towards a little street.

“What’s going on?” I gasp, following her resolute steps.

“A ‘manif’…–––she speaks in French. A students’ protest. But the police are following them.” I see her long hair gracefully tossing around her as she runs and her delicate fingers grasp my hand tightly.

“Is this really happening in modern Paris?” I joke.

“Argh, pop star!–––she growls. Run!” We turn the corner of another narrow street, cross a pathway and finally stop on a door. With the rush I have absolutely lost reference from the river. She enters some place and pulls me inside.

“What are we doing?” I ask, confused.

“We take shelter!” She exclaims, closing the door behind me.

“What from?”

“You are so clueless... From the police!” She practically yells, stepping inside the place. She deeply inhales and glances up at me. “They throw tear gas at us, and sometimes even rubber bullets…” She explains. That sounds so brutal. These uncivilised French people… Our Bobbies don’t even carry a gun. She nods to the bartender, who smiles at her.

“And what do we do now?” I ask, puzzled.

“We wait,” she says, turning towards the door, which abruptly opens. Some other people rush in and go directly to the bar to talk to the bartender. She listens to what they say carefully.

“What’s happening?” I speak.

“Police ambushed them. They’re surrounding the entire area.” There’s confusion behind the bar. The bartender continues to talk to the people and then he speaks with the waiter. “They are closing the cafe…” She carries on.

“Do we have to leave?”

“No, we can stay inside until things quieten down. They are shutting the metal curtain,” she explains.

“So I guess you are stuck with me then” I say, sitting at a cute, small wooden table. She does the same. These French cafes are the perfect frame for her. We stay in silence for a moment staring at each other. She rests her chin on her fist.

“Well, tell me, why did you lie to me?” Strangely, thanks to the incident she seems far more relaxed towards me than before.

“I didn’t lie to you. I couldn’t think of another way to communicate with you. I thought you were a fan,” I explain to her. The waiter discreetly brought us two glasses of water, so we nod at him.

“But I’m not…” She says sipping her glass, glimpsing at me.

“It has become quite clear to me,” I retort. I feel my mobile vibrating on the pocket of my jeans. I absolutely forgot about my escape and its possible consequences. I glance at the screen hoping it’s not Paul. “I’m sorry–––I politely say to her. It’s Louis… I have to answer and tell them I am OK…” She raises her eyebrows, the glass resting on her lips. She almost seems like she is grinning for the first time. “Lou…–––I say, listening to his anxious speech. Yes, I met her... I’m with her now; we are on a cafe…–––I speak in my normal tone. Yeah, that’s what I wanted but we arrived here under different circumstances than expected... We were escaping a protest…–––I explain. No, not a mob of fans... A protest.” She giggles as she hears me and I smile. “I’ll be at the hotel in a while... No, they can’t come for me. Police have blocked the zone. No, I’m in no danger... What will I do? I’ll wait and then pick a taxi to the hotel. I’ll be OK… No, I’m not nervous...–––I say while glancing at her. No, she doesn’t even fancy me…” She suddenly looks away. “Yeah, I know I picked the only Fan Fiction’s writer who doesn’t want to fuck my brains out... Yeah, one in a million chances…–––I repeat Louis’ words ironically as she glimpses back. Yeah, and that’s hilarious. Well, I’m hanging now.”

“So he truly is a bossy person,” she remarks, amused.

“He is,” I smile, thinking about what he just said. The entire situation is so utterly surreal. What were the odds? “So, why are you here?” I ask her as she taps the table with her fingertips.

“Because I can’t leave,” she claims.

“No, why did you come to meet ILoveTommoBear?” I specify.

“Because I liked her…” She explains quietly.

“She’s me, you know…” I grin.

“It has become quite clear to me,” she says with a hint of sarcasm, grimacing.

“Well, explain me–––I say. What sort of thesis are you writing?”

“A PhD thesis about non-canonical genre, about Fan Fiction…”

“And why did you choose me?” I boldly ask, slightly leaning in over the table.

“Because you are a global phenomenon and there’s already a Fan Fiction’s writer who became famous after you–––she speaks not looking at me. Everybody is into you, so you seem to work.” She crosses her arms beneath her chest. God, her chest. She is not wearing any bra.

“Only that? Not any other reason…” I suggestively say.

“No.”

“OK, let me get it–––I murmur, smiling. You had a lot where to choose from, but you chose me. I know that what you told me about us meeting in London really happened.”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t know who I was…” She nods, slightly biting her thumb. “And then you were watching the Olympics’ Closing Ceremony and I showed up singing over a lorry.” She nods again. “And you just recognised me?”

“Yes.”

“Two years later,” I say. I can tell she is nervous.

“Well, yeah. I have a good memory,” she explains in a cold tone.

“And a year later you started to write Fan Fiction about me–––I snap. I see. There’s nothing more…”

“Well, I wasn’t planning to tell this you but you are so cheeky you earned it–––she blurts. You remind me of someone I was in love with... Physically,” she says. Is it true? She sounds like she’s telling the truth. Suddenly I feel a stabbing pain under my rib. I try not to show.

“Oh, I see,” I mumble, glancing around. I realise the noises from the street have stopped a while ago. The waiter walks towards the door and pushes the curtain up. “I think we can leave now. Do you want me to walk you home?” I manage to ask. My head is sort of spinning.

“Are you trying to make me feel guilty?” She asks me, full of confusion and anger.

“No, this is who I am,” I mutter, beginning to stand up.

“This is so absolutely surreal…” She remarks, turning her face away from me.

“I know. But I’m glad I’ve met you though–––I speak near her hair. Your writing made me feel quite happy some times I was feeling blue.”

“Why are you here? What do you want from me?” She says facing me suddenly, so close I can almost feel her breath on my mouth. Don’t stare at her lips, Harry.

“I suppose I wanted to continue to feel happy–––I say after a pause, finally standing up. But nothing turned out the way I expected. I still have your stories anyway. It was nice to meet you, Jeanne,” I name her for the first time and her eyes shimmer, but I know there’s nothing more for me to do here. I turn around and walk towards the door while putting my sunglasses on. I step into the warm afternoon. The air smells funny, probably because of the tear gas. I don’t even know where I am, neither what direction I have to take to pick a taxi. I reach out for my iPhone to set the GPS, but then I feel one hand on my waist.

“This way,” she says.

–.–.–

Notes

She finally landed! Every question about her will be answered in time.

I want to say thank you all for choosing to read this story, and for your patience. You are the better readers I could ask for! If you are a new around, stay right here, and hit Subscribe because it's going to be wild. Next chapter is going to be... I know you'll tell me ;)

Meanwhile don't forget to read all these stories:

Big Hot Mess
Permanent
Study of Life and Love
Mainstream
Mandolin Rain (courtesy of @afriendofjenny)

All amazing stories that everyone should be reading! Next chapter: A walk to remember. Coming very, very soon, tomorrow Friday, and probably a double update if we get a few more subscribers. Until then, don't forget to read those lovely books!