Waking Up: The Brown Curls

Harry, a typical Englishman walks the streets of London everyday. Reychel, a young woman, came to London to learn more about music and song writing.
Harry Styles, who learns about Reychel, helps her find her way through this career. The two friends are really coming closer together, but will they always just be friends?


2. Italian Faces But No Cute Faces

Reychel's POV

My Italian apartment is nothing compared to my country home in London. My bed is old and creeks when I get in it. The walls are peeling and the ceiling hold a chandelier probrably 100 years old. I want my country home back. My red kitchen. My warm bed. And most importantly, Harry. I miss him so much. At least its my last night here. Then, I can see my Harry. The one that makes me laugh and get crazy. And Skipper. Oh Skipper.

I walked into my kitchen. I opened up a fridge that held milk. I slammed the cabinet open and snatched a cup. I filled it up too the top, watching it flow in the clear cup. I placed it on the table, and looked around. I saw my the walls growing mold and the pictures all old. The pictures held paintings of flowers, which I liked. The curtains had stains on them and were thin layers of white fabric. Just the apartment needed work. I read the time on the stove. 9:00. I walked to my plain bedroom and covered myself with the cold blankets. I heard Itailians speaking Italian and heard the cities of Italy getting buisier and buisier every minute.

9 Hours Later

I woke up with a splash of confidence. I read the analog clock in the corner of my room and I jumped out of bed with a smile on my face. Today was the day I go home to Harry.....and Niall.....and Zayn......and Skipper and everyone else. I was going to see my country side home and the hidden lake in the back of my house. I'm going home.....to London.

I slipped on a pink t-shirt, skinny jeans and socks and sneakers. I didn't even take a shower because I know Harry loves me anyway. I combed my hair and called a taxi from my wall phone. I grabbed my luggage and trew on a sweatshirt, and ran down the stairs. I pushed open the doors and my taxi awaited me. I walked the rest of the way, opened the door, and looked back, looking up to my apartment window. My apartment was loooking down at me, and I hopped in the taxi. I slammed the door shut and we went straight to the airport, a few miles away. It over looked the Ligurian Sea.

"I miss you Harry." I said, shedding a tear.  


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