That torrential downpour in the coffee shop feels like ages ago. The nervous apology and Loren forgiving me and that fateful call.

London is especially beautiful today. Clear blue skies and rolling clouds. I can't remember the last time I was here. That happens. Some days are better than others.

I'm surprised by the line, by the smiles directed towards me. Adoring fans. Fans. I have fans. I try to collect my thoughts. Take a deep breath.

It's still all so surreal, seeing my book stocked on shelves. On every entrance display. My name added: New York Times bestseller list.

I chuckle, shake my head. He always doubted me and my abilities way less than me. In fact, he never had an inkling of doubt. It was always faith. This moment. I wish I could share it with him.

He called yesterday to express once again, just how proud he was of me. I could practically feel that beaming smile of his through the phone. I think my heart must have skipped.

"Are you coming," I asked, unease spinning in my stomach.

"Huh? To what babe?"

"Nothing. You have class to teach. I wish I had a bit more free time, so we could catch up before I head out for the next stop. A book tour is a bit odd, isn't it?"

"Not when you're a talented and charming new author," he compliments. "You're a bestseller now. Next is someone knocking down your door to make it into a movie."

"Oh god," I groan.

"I'm teasing babe." Probably one of those tongue pressed behind his front teeth smiles. A perfect laugh.

"Of course you are," I scoff, eyes rolling.

"You're rolling your eyes at me," he gasps, pretending to be offended. "I always know when you roll them."

The silly banter ends there and I wish it could last forever. I miss this.

"Hey I have to go," I release a sigh. "My manager is having a fit. I'll talk to you soon."

"No worries," he replies. Voice too nonchalant. He does that when he wants to hide away his hurt. I always seem to cut things short between us. A frown settles on my face, little line forming between my brows as they furrow too close together.

I'm pulled back into reality, back into the current day. My book signing. Why am I not ecstatic? It was a great success. So many sweet fans and kind words.

"I'm sorry," I say, tone going flat. "The autograph session is over, we're about to pack things up."

I'm staring at the table, fingers skimming over the blurb on the back of my books. I shouldn't be this way to a supporter of my work. It really isn't such a big deal. What's one more signature? It would save me from looking like a complete asshat and save them from the disappointment that their favorite author might be just another fame chasing prick. It wouldn't take five seconds to scribble my initials.

"Please, I'm your biggest fan."

My heart rattles around inside my rib cage, I release an unsteady breath, unable to tear my gaze away from the quickly blurring words and the critical acclaim.

Unequivocally beautiful

Awe inspiring, raw, carefully written and boldly crafted. A promising first read from a rising author.

A gut wrenching experience on every page

"Thank you...for the dedication." He softly breaks the silence and I sharply suck in air, feel repeat shivers inside my bones. "Could you sign my copy?"

He slides his book in front of me. One of the only paperbacks, worn and dog-eared pages. There's a coffee ring on the back cover and that brings a wave of temporary relief rushing over me. I'm sure his handwriting is scrawled across every margin. Notes and question marks and maybe a bold exclamation every now and then.

My pen tip tentatively touches the page.

Zayn,

I was never the best at verbally expressing how I feel...

I nearly scratch that out, eyes stuck on the dedication: to my one and only love

Deep breaths. I push through, keep writing.

This book captures all of the best memories, the floaty flying feeling and the weightlessness, the ease of trusting you with my heart. How falling for you came naturally.

There are bad ones too. The crash and burn moments. The fiery fights that we couldn't put out and the expletives and me leaving you behind.

Words left unfinished. Thoughts I shouldn't have kept to myself. Inverted quotations and uncertainties and the sentences I couldn't piece together for you. I'm sorry for that.

But I'm not sorry that I created this...that we created this. This is how I remembered. The reason I grew to love you again, love you even more than I did (if it even seems impossible).

394 pages isn't quite enough and somehow it's entirely too much. I'm sure that doesn't make any sense.

I re-wrote the last page a million times. You always told me not to overthink it. So I didn't. I didn't overthink any of this. Every single word, every pause was straight from the bottom of my heart. How quickly things come to you when truly allow yourself to feel them. Just write what you feel. That was your constant advice.

To my biggest fan, my advocate, my encouragement, my rock...thank you. I love you more than you could ever imagine.

It's a gift to remember the things wedged between these pages, but it would be an even greater gift to create new memories with you. Promise me that and nothing more.

Yours forever,

Harry

"Writing an entire sequel are we," he teases and I gather the strength to meet his eyes, blinking back my tears.

"Something like that," I offer a lopsided half-smile and he rests his hand on mine. He must feel how terribly my fingers tremble.

"What you wrote doesn't matter. No," he winces, face contorted into something sour. "I didn't mean it that way. I mean what matters is you and how you're feeling. It's okay. There's a certain beauty in unraveling," his voice might be the kindest I can remember. He picks up on everything.

"You came," that's all I can muster, voice coarse and barely there. His thumb swipes away the fresh tears on my cheeks.

"Of course."

Of course. Like there was nothing in the world that would stop him. I don't process standing up or closing the space between us or flinging my arms around him but suddenly he's there. He's there, skin beneath my fingertips and his hand drops to the small of my back and I can breathe.

I can breathe for the first time.

"I can't bring myself to read the last page. Maybe we can...read it together?" His question feels so shy. So unlike him.

Maybe we're both nervous. His voice is slightly unsteady but I'm sure my jello legs are worse.

"There's a lot I need to tell you," he dares to speak up first. "About why I lied about Mason and how I thought maybe you could move on and be happy without me. I'm sure you're short on time but-"

"I'll make time," I say assertively. "Don't worry about that. I'll always make time for you. I'm sick of being forced to put career moves before my feelings for you, I-"

"Are you okay," he asks, his concern completely filling my heart.

"Actually, no. I'm not okay. I was going to ask you this forever ago, I tried to have this conversation with you in my head a thousand times...I'm ready to start again. Not start again. No," I shake my head. "Those aren't the right words."

"It's okay. I'm sure find the ones you're looking for sometime before next year."

I put a small pout on my face and his laughter fills the room. "You're thinking about moving back," he questions, fingers lacing with mine. "Is that what this is...the hesitation?"

A calculated pause. He does everything with purpose. Nothing without reason. "H-how," i stammer out. "How did you know?"

"I didn't," he answers, no sign of deception hidden in his voice. "I was just hoping that's what you'd say. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push you."

500 watts. That must be how bright my smile is. My fingers get lost in his hair. His nose presses to mine.

"So we both want this?"

His response comes in the form of a kiss. I'm still unraveling. Knees weak, arms looping around his neck as he deepens it. This is everything I remember and more. So much more.

My heart is flooded. I didn't realize just how much I missed this, didn't ever think I could feel this way again.

When he pulls away, I continue to clutch onto the soft material of his t-shirt, heat diffusing through my cheeks.

"Maybe when the book tour is over we can-"

"I'll cancel the rest of the book tour," tears swim in my eyes. "I don't care about that. The book is about you Zayn. It's because of you. None of this would have happened otherwise."

"You can't do that to the fans," he frowns. "It's alright." Tracing gentle circles up my spine. "I'll still be here at the end of the tour."

"Haven't you waited long enough?"

"For you Harry? I'd wait a lifetime."