Light faded softly through my windows, I could hear the sounds of birds chirping and cars whirling past in my half-sumber. And, I might be crazy, but I swore I could hear my siblings.

I sat up in my bed with the force of a bullet train, making my head spin and stars appear in my vision.

Holy shit. My siblings.

I scrambled out of bed, almost falling flat on my face as I did so. I was barely functional this early in the morning. I quickly looked in the mirror. Thank god I took all my makeup off from last night.

Last night.

Thoughts and memorized from last night hit me a speed even more dizzying than the fast getting out of bed. It almost felt unreal. Was Rowen truly in Nashville? And I danced with him?

I really, really hope no one slipped anything into my glass and I was just high on hallucinogenic drugs, because that is insane. Unreal.

And yet, I so desperately want it to be real. More than anything.

I practically tossed myself down the stairs, stumbling as I did so, and barreled straight into my closest sister, Annie. As soon as I realized what I had done, I quickly threw my arms around her in a bear hug. My younger siblings also ran up and pounced on me, creating a huge pile of Harris children.

"I've missed you guys so much," I sighed, pulling them tighter.

Dismissing the ever so intrusive thoughts of Rowen, I made my way into our kitchen, happily chatting and catching up with my family. Sure, I had texted them and called them, and even visited them once or twice on a weekend in London, but nothing quite felt like being home together.

I'm sorry to disappoint, but London will never be my home. I sort of thought I'd have a cliche coming-of-age moment where I learn to love Westwood school and London. And, it just never happened. I am a Nashville girl through and through. You can take the girl out of the country, but you can't take the country out of the girl.

It was a cute, almost idealistic reunion. To all the surprise in the world, there were no fights, no screaming children, and no arguing parents. It's not like I didn't miss them, but hey. I'm 16, and an occasional break from my parents is more than necessary.

We ate coffee cake my mother had made together as a family for breakfast, talking and talking as we did so. Suddenly, it seemed to be my turn to get the grilling from the rest of my family.

"So Nola, have you and the boys thought of making an album?" My father pressed.

I looked up from my plate, thinking for a moment, "This might sound crazy, but over the course of being at Westwood, I've written 45 songs and written all the music for them all. I know the other guys have written stuff as well, I'm just... I'm too nervous to put it out there for the world. And despite the fact that we are sort of a rock'n'roll band, everything I write is almost nostalgic folk music."

My parents nodded, contemplatively. It was my brother David who spoke up first, "just go record your own stuff today, and then maybe share that with them."

Somehow, this did actually seem like a good idea. Also, our record label was pressuring us to put something out, so maybe this was a step in the right direction.

I nodded, and finished breakfast. I went upstairs to my room and quickly washed my face, brushed my teeth, and did my hair. I put on just a little makeup, because I was feeling particularly lazy. I put on a favorite fall outfit of a 90s style spaghetti strap plaid dress over a lettuce edged mock neck long sleeve b

Ultimately, I went to the record studio/music room that adjoined my bedroom. It was my favorite room in the house, with a huge mirror, tons of guitars, two drum sets, a piano and more. The walls were covered in posters and faded black and gold wallpaper that was in delicate designs of instruments entangles together, so from far away, you barely could notice it was anything more than just a geometrical design.

I sat down at my desk there, picked up my guitar, and wrote. And wrote. And wrote.

And finally, recorded.

Hours upon hours passed by and I barely noticed the rain starting, the doorbell ringing, but I did notice my phone going off. It was my mother calling, and, I knew I'd be damned if I didn't pick it up.

"Hey Nola, Rowen Ashworth is here to see you," My mothers voice said sweetly through the phone line.

My heart stopped completely, "I-" my eyes flashed around the room as if looking for something. What? I'm not sure. An excuse maybe? "I'm coming," I stuttered.

My heart was beating a million miles a minute as I walked around my room, and out into the hallway. I kept walking, my feet bounding down the stairs. My hands felt clammy, and all I could notice was my heartbeat in my ears.

Even before I turned around the corner, I could hear his voice, all posh polite and accented as ever talking with my mother.

I hesitated, unsure if I should walk out and show my face, or run and hide. Run and hide? I thought to myself, Who am I? A 5 year old?

With that thought, I bucked up my courage, and rounded the corner, almost tripping over myself as I did.

Rowen stood before me, in all his avenging-angel level glory. His hair was curly and matted, dripping with rain water. That same water was running down his face, catching on the slopes and angles. He stood there, wearing a dark colored suit with a large peacoat unbuttoned and layered on top. Even from here, I could tell he had dressed to impress, with a large shiny metal watch, undoubtedly patek-philippe.

I glanced away from him and into the large bouquet of flowers, Peonies and baby's breath. I wanted to cry at the amount of raw emotions surging through me when I looked at them.

But, nothing quite made my heart stop like the moment he breathed, "Magnolia."

It almost sounded like a prayer. Or a plead. No, a confession. Or maybe he was asking for forgiveness. But It was almost holy in how unearthly it sounded. No other words could have broken my heart quite like how may own name on his lips did.

So what could I do besides answer his prayer? 

No thoughts went through my mind when I said, "Rowen." 

Only one word was necessary in conveying every little thought I had had of him. Have of him. will always have of him.