When in Paris (Harry Styles Love Story)

Ireland Geller, ironically born in Scotland, needs an escape route. Just as she turns eighteen, she decides to free herself from the horrible place she has called home for so many years. She packs her belongings, leaving a letter behind for her family, and flees to small town France with only the leather suitcase in her hand. Just across the harsh waters, boyband member, Harry Styles is waking up to the same problems; He just wants to run. Slowly, but surely, he makes his way to Ireland, the only person who can bring out the good in the rebelling star again.


1. Ireland

*Chapter Name indicates the POV of the story*

I stepped out of the shower, raking my fingers through the orange ringlets spiraling from my scalp. I had trouble seeing anything but the giant towel in front of me. Steam blocked me from all sides as I wrapped the fabric around my body and, twisting the knob open, made my way out of the box-like shower. Steam poured into the halls, trailing behind me as I dashed to my room just a few feet away. When I made it, I slammed the oak door behind me, breathing in the cool air that seemed to sting my skin after being under the heat and pressure of the boiling water. 

I slipped on an old band t-shirt and some shorts that were buried under piles of rejected outfits from previous days and mornings. When everything was settled, I flopped on to the bed, my arms spread wide like my legs. I felt like falling asleep, maybe trying to bring back the dream I had had once about Paris. Everything seemed to be tiring me lately, especially the thought of not having anywhere to go in life. Sure, I could sing some and I could draw, but where was that going to take me? Not out of Scotland, like I'd like to be. I wrapped the towel around my head in a mound on the top and walked, quietly, over to the window. I did this daily, but nothing ever changed. It was always the same field of rolling, green hills. Somewhere, apparently, there were majestic castles that loomed in the skyline, but that wasn't here. Here, the nearest grocery outlet was a half an hour away, there were no castles in sight, and shacks atop hills were the only things breaking the skyline. 

The thing I longed for most was Paris, France. It wasn't that far from Scotland. Just a hop, skip, and a jump across a body of water, and I would be standing under the Eiffel Tower, smiling up at it's beauty. Unfortunately, those three moves were forbidden by my overprotective mother. 

I lifted the curtain-covered window and stared out at my neighbor, Old Lady Tilly, who was milking her goats for the second time today. I shook my head in disbelief, dropping the lavender-colored fabric, blocking my view of the old woman. How could anyone stand to stay in this hell hole for as long as she had? Just then, my mother rasped at the door, holding a bundle of fresh clothes she had just washed. "Ireland!" She half-screeched, half-mumbled at me through the bundle of socks in her mouth. I giggled, taking the stack from her outstretched arms and moving it, unsteadily, over to the bed. Quickly, they fell into a jumbled mess, my Mother rolling her eyes with the same scowl she always wore. It didn't take long before the door slammed and I was alone again, wondering what speech I'd get this time. I shrugged, moving myself back to the window to watch Old Tilly, who was most likely still milking her goats. I sighed. What even was my life? Would I spend it here, turning into Tilly, milking goats everyday? I refused to let that happen.

But how would it change? I knew it would never happen on it's own. I had my whole life ahead of me, but at the same time, I didn't. It seemed to me that my pitiful life would amount to nothing but milking goats or finding a dead beat job here. Such a small town, Cardross. I prefer city life, and always have, but Mother was so sheltering and clingy; She'd never let me leave. My thoughts slowly faded to Parisian summers, meadows adorned with cobblestone paths.

There would be towering budings and willow trees. Each time the wind blew, the smell of freshly baked bread would fill my senses until I could almost taste the flaky crust dissolving in my mouth. Petals would fall from the trees, drifting into my hair as I dashed through the streets, smacking my bare feet against the stone walkway. The days would be hot, but the nights would be cold and bitter, however, that wouldn't matter. All I'd need would be him. That special someone to light up my harsh nights and protect me from the fierce winds. He'd never leave me or my daughter, the way my father had. Oh no, he'd be caring and kind, loving us with all of hearts as we watched her grow into a beautiful young woman. We'd let her go out with her friends and wave goodbye when she left us to make her own French memories. 

Then, it'd be just he and I again, destined to spend the rest of our days and, now beautiful, nights together. Forever, until the end of time. We'd live life as if we had it all to ourselves, there would be no end. A passionate love would surround me in France. If only I could get there. 

I reached up to scratch an itch on my upper cheek, quickly realizing that it was tears cascading from my watery eyes. It wasn't that I simply wanted to live in Paris or fall in love. That was an understatement. Ever since I could remember, I had wanted more than rolling hills of short green grass. I wanted flashing lights and gleaming rows of countless people that never seemed to sleep. I had wanted a love that outshone the rest of the world, that told little girls to keep their head high, that they'd be there someday. I needed it and I was going to get it some way or another, even if that meant disgracing the Geller family. 

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