I feel a little childish asking Harry to turn away as I change out of my salty, sun crisped clothes and into something from the suitcases. He obliges politely and turns his body to face the sea with his arms folded across his tattooed chest. I'm well aware that Harry seeing me in the nude is completely irrelevant compared to the real challenges we're facing, but I'm determined to continue acting like my insecure young adult self. There's no way I'm allowing myself to evolve into Tom Hank's character in Cast Away. I'm not going to start talking to sports equipment.

I pull my tattered shirt over my head; cringing at the blood stains on the left sleeve. The wound on my shoulder protests against the motion of the material sliding over it and I discard the fabric in the floral case laid out in front of me. It falls over the collection of bibs and petite velcro trainers like a safety blanket; shielding my eyes from the true horrors of its contents. I may have promised Harry positivity only, but it doesn't mean I will forget. I will never forget.

Despite feeling horribly exposed, the relief of taking off my bra is almost indescribable. Pools of sand fall around my feet as I release the clasps, revealing sore patches on my skin from where it has chafed. I feel a sudden urge to look up and confirm that Harry is still facing away. He is.

My jeans are a challenge to get off. The denim has become stiff from its exposure to the sea water and I struggle to get the button undone. I almost cry with relief when it finally pops open and I wriggle out of them, the feeling of freedom almost overwhelming. I'm tempted to ban jeans from the rest of my life and kick them away from me as I slide out of my underwear.

From the pile of treasures that Harry and I managed to scavenge; I change into the swimsuit, the jersey shorts and one of the men's t-shirts. It's oversized and loose against my frame, despite the other garments a size smaller than I would usually purchase. I can't help thinking that if we continue on a diet of coconut chunks, these clothes will be a perfect fit anyway. I finish my incredibly stylish outfit with the floppy sunhat and suddenly feel incredibly reminiscent about a framed photograph in the front room of my home back in England.

It's of my mother and I. I'm around the age of two, dressed in a particularly dashing pair of emerald dungarees and she's holding me above her head. We're both mid laughter; eyes twinkling and mouths wide. But my mind is focused on her head and the oversized floppy sunhat that adorns it.

"You can turn around now." I call to Harry. He begins to head my way with a timid smile on his face, swallowing uncomfortably as he approaches. He's been like this since he finally released me from his iron grip.

I want to tell him that he doesn't need to be embarrassed about being afraid. I want to reassure him that we are in this together and I know exactly how he's feeling. He doesn't need to put on a front or 'be a man'.

But I can't tell him. Because I don't really know him and I don't want to undermine him.

I would have told Addie in a heartbeat. I would have told Jules as soon as I realised.

But with Harry, it isn't my place to say.

"Nice outfit." He smirks once he's finally reached me. He's still wearing the canary shorts and I've finally persuaded him to wear the mauve bucket hut.

He looks ridiculous. But so do I.

"Thanks." I beam at him and perform a 360 spin like some sort of amateur model at a thrift store fashion show. He shakes his head.

"Come on, I want to show you the water pool." He doesn't wait for my response, instead he begins gathering the water bottles and the empty sippee cups. I take some from him and follow his lead into the trees.

The natural light dims as we venture in; blanketing us in shade. It's such a relief to no longer feel the burning heat pulsing down onto our already singed skin and I can quite literally feel my shoulders stoop and relax into their surroundings. I find myself tripping over loose roots and rocks as I struggle to take my eyes away from the canopy over our heads. The sight of sun attempting to creep through the expansive palm leaves is surprisingly breathtaking.

"Are you alright back there?" Harry calls over his shoulder. He's at least then steps ahead of me; striding forwards towards his end destination with so much determination that I'm not entirely sure I have any hope of keeping up.

"Fine." I call back, peeking out from underneath the oversized rim of my hat.

Everything is very...green. It's a nice change from the endless stretches of both sand and sea but it almost feels as thought it doesn't belong here. There's something strangely calming about being enveloped in trees and there's also a safety that I haven't felt here yet.

"Watch your step!" Harry calls from up ahead and I lower my gaze just in time to watch him clambering over the trunk of a fallen palm tree like an uncoordinated Mowgli. He lands successfully on the other side and turns to wait for me to catch up. There's a somewhat sinister smirk on face and I know that he knows as well as I that this is not going to go as planned.

Moments later and I too have reached the fallen tree. The trunk is much wider up close and I quickly learn that having your arms full does not put you in a particularly good position balance-wise. Or perhaps I'm the one who is uncoordinated? I swing my right leg over the tree and end up landing on my knee in the sand with the other leg elevated and lying across the jagged bark. I imagine that I look like a really phoney gymnast.

Harry throws his head back and laughs.

"You are the definition of elegant, Sarah." He tells me and I feel my face slip into an amused scowl. He watches as I manage to retrieve my leg and get myself standing upright; my cheeks are flushed and I'm trying not to laugh.

"Whatever." I stick my tongue out at him childishly and he grins at me. The smile touches his eyes and they twinkle in my direction, making it almost easy to forget that beyond this 'hike' there is a perimeter of ocean cutting us off from the rest of the world.

We start to move again in silence; audible is only the sounds of our feet fighting against the heavy sand and the chinking of the bottles colliding with one another as they jostle in our arms. Harry suddenly clears his throat but then doesn't say anything. I throw him a confused look but he's focused on the path ahead with a deep groove between his eyebrows.

"So, um, how much further?" I ask. My voice is shy and unsure and I suddenly feel really ridiculous addressing Harry as though he's a stranger. It's not like we've spent the last twenty-four hours together scavenging for food, water and shelter or anything...

Pull it together, Sarah.

"Not far now." He replies, keeping his eyes ahead.

Silence falls again and I'm struggling to think of a time that I've felt more awkward than I do now. Possibly only one moment in my life could come close and it's definitely the time that Jules gatecrashed a house party I was attending during one of her UK Summer visits. The feeling of being sixteen years old and being able to literally see your reputation diminish is something I'll never forget. Plus the bollocking I got from my parents and Jules following being caught at a house party with alcohol in the first place.

My mind drifts to Harry and the fact that I know we're the same age. I doubt that someone quite so charming could possibly get even half the bollocking I received if caught at a house party. The thought of Harry getting told off for anything is highly amusing in my mind. He just comes across as being one of those perfect model children.

Something clicks.

Other than his celebrity status, I don't really know Harry and he knows even less about me. We've not once had to engage in a conversation that didn't relate to a task we're trying to carry out. We've never actually...chatted. The silence suddenly makes an awful lot of sense.

It's my turn to clear my throat.

"So, Harry," I begin. I see him incline his head in my direction. "Why were you flying to Kuala Lumpur?"

I don't miss him raise his eyebrows. He wasn't expecting small talk either.

"Just a stop-over, actually." He replies before licking his lips. "I was heading to Melbourne to do some more writing."

Is he working on an album? Has he released a solo album yet? I'm clueless.

"Ah...nice." I try to sound enthusiastic but it's somewhat forced. He chuckles, clearly well aware of my ignorance to his career.

"It's not for me." He informs me and readjusts his grip on the bottles. "I'm writing for someone else. I've only just released my album so I'm taking a break from my own stuff until my tour."

I quicken my pace to keep up with his striding legs. He's seems unaware that he's walking so fast.

"When do you start touring?" I press. Part of me thinks I might be annoying him, hence his determination to race ahead of me but I refuse to continue this hike in mind-numbing silence.

"Mid-September." He replies. His answer is quiet and there's an edge of uncertainty to it. I don't even have to count on my fingers to figure out why.

It's July.

Harry's supposed to be performing to thousands of adoring fans in potentially less than two months.

Will we be home in two months?

"You don't have to say it." He adds, taking the hint from my lack of reply. He suddenly looks very sullen.

Why did you have to ruin the mood, Sarah? He was practically glowing before you opened your mouth.

"Hey, if we're still eating coconut and trekking into the wilderness for water in two months time, I will happily attend a private beach concert by yours truly." I announce in a light-hearted tone. "But only if you play What Makes You Beautiful."

Harry's head tilts backwards into a patch of sunlight and he laughs loudly. There's a combination of lips and teeth stretched broadly across his face and I feel my body relax with relief.

"I'll take that as a compliment." He chuckles. "But of course, anything for my number one fan."

I laugh now, also grinning like the Cheshire cat. Harry's still laughing as he walks on; his bucket hat and shorts combo making him look like he belongs in Wheatus circa 2000. I'm thrilled to have broken the ice on the awkwardness despite knowing how torn up Harry must be feeling regarding the likelihood of attending his planned gigs. I have to force myself to forget the fact that the rest of the world probably thinks we're dead, let alone not coming home in two months.

I'm trying to come up with another One Direction song that I might know the words to but Harry has started to pick up his pace and is now racing ahead of me.

"Look, it's right there!" He calls as he slowly becomes a blur of purple and yellow rather than a human figure. I pick up my own pace and come to standstill at the edge of a ditch where Harry has positioned himself.

I look down, surprised to see my own face staring back me. And my hair...

Oh my God. My hair.

"You could have told me that I look like Medusa." I exclaim and place the bottles down at my feet so that I can start attempting to rectify the birds nest formation on the top of my head.

Harry doesn't comment, instead he crouches down by the water and begins to fill his collection of bottles whilst trying to fight a smile. I neglect my hairstyle and decide to do the same.

I can't help but run my fingers through the water. It's cool from being shaded by the canopy overhead and I find myself wanting to ignore the task at hand and plunge straight in.

"How can this even be here?" I ask Harry as I seal my second bottle and place it next to his own completed collection. "I mean, we're surrounded by salt water and there are no mountains to speak of to form a spring. How can there possibly be a pool like this?"

I didn't pay enough attention in geography to even begin to comprehend this life saviour in front of us so it's probably too late to start asking these questions.

"If you dig deep enough but not so deep that you reach sea level - you'll always find fresh water." Harry tells me. "This pool has probably been the result of some sort of erosion. Rainfall, perhaps."

I watch in awe as Harry continues filling bottles. He's even filling my own portion now. I'm slacking off, too busy pondering the formation of nature.

"Harry, how on earth do you know that?" I can't help but ask.

How can a human be so good at... everything.

"Discovery channel." He says, completely seriously. "It's a wonderful thing on long-haul flights."

I shake my head in disbelief. "You're so random."

"Shut up and wash your hair." He grins at me, pointing his right index finger at the pool in front of us. I raise my hands in defeat and slide out of my newly acquired jersey shorts.

Harry turns his attention back to the water as I remove the oversized t-shirt and sunhat and prepare to wash away days worth of blood, dirt, sweat and fear.

There's always a hype about entering the water. There's those few seconds of fear before taking the plunge. Mainly the fear of freezing to death but I have to remind must that this is not the English seaside. I dip my left big toe beneath the mirrored surface.

It's...warm.

"Don't make me throw you in." Harry threatens but I know he's jesting. I count to three take a huge step.

Water engulfs my legs, only just higher than my knees but still enough for me to tell the stark difference from the ocean. It splashes up my arms, neck and back as I hit the surface but it's a welcome spray against my clammy skin.

"It's amazing!" I yell over my splashing. Harry watches from the side, smirking as I play in the water like a child.

I sink down to my knees, allowing the water to rise up above my belly button and tip my head backwards into the pool. It seeps through my matted locks and cools my scalp.

I run my fingers through, wincing as I attempt to prize it all apart and into separate strands again. What I would give for a tangle teaser to magically appear right now.

By the time I resurface, I feel as though I have been half submerged for hours. My fingers are pruned and goosebumps scatter my body as soon as I climb out.

"Feeling a little more human?" Harry asks me and I smile sheepishly in response.

"So much better." I breathe. I realise that I'm going to have a drip dry but I don't even care.

I'm clean.

And for the time being, I'm even inclined to believe that my concerns about our survival have washed away with the sand and salt.

"I really needed that." I admit, feeling tearful.

"So did I. Don't think I could have lasted another day looking at that beehive." Harry says quickly, sensing my moment of weakness.

I swallow back my tears and stick my tongue out at him... again.

Neither of us comment, instead I retrieve my sun hat and squish it down over my damp hair. I pull the shorts on and throw the t-shirt over my shoulder so that I can take my share of the bottles for the journey back. Harry gathers his own and takes the lead back to the beach.

Most of the walk is silent again but this time it's comfortable. We're past the tree trunk by the time either of us speak.

"You never told me why you were on that flight." Harry points out. He's right, our outward journey was mainly based on my interrogatives for him.

"I was going to stay with Jules for three weeks. She lives in Kuala Lumpur and she's promised me a Malaysian Summer since I was about ten."

Harry stares are me blankly and I realise I have been speaking as though he's well aware who Jules is.

"Jules is my aunt." I add quickly. "She's ten years younger than my Mum - her sister - so we're really close. I miss her terribly when I'm at home."

I suddenly feel incredibly sad again that I won't be spending my Summer with Jules. She won't be greeting me in Arrivals or treating me to Asian cuisine. Harry nudges my shoulder gently.

"I'm sure you can spend next Summer there." He says in a kind, optimistic voice that I'm grateful for. "Where is home?"

I open my mouth to reply but am momentarily blinded by the sunlight as we exit the trees. The change in temperature is immediate and I can feel my damp skin and clothing drying almost instantly.

"Holy shit." Harry breathes and my eyes snap up to the shoreline.

More bodies have joined the ones that washed up this morning, along with plane debris and what looks like another suitcase.

There's a smaller body now too. It's curled into itself and even from this far away I can tell it's feet are smaller than my hands.

My mind races with images of the shrieking baby on the plane and the floral suitcase laden with infant paraphernalia.

My stomach does somersaults repeatedly. Each one more violent and forceful than its predecessor.

We both drop our armfuls, letting them fall into the sand with a gentle thud. My knees are shaking and I reach my left hand out frantically for some kind of support.

Harry's fingers interlock with my wavering ones, steadying me in a tight grip.

"Breathe, Sarah." He tells me.

And I do. I breathe.

He releases his grip of me and veers off towards his makeshift graveyard. He drops to his knees and I don't understand why until I watch him begin scooping handfuls of sand out of the ground.

The pit becomes deeper and longer. Long enough to match the seven others laid out beside it.

I take a deep breath and drop to my knees beside him.

We share a knowing, sympathetic look of support before I begin.

Before I begin to dig my first grave.