Chapter 26 (part 2)

Chapter 26 (part 2)
It’s late when Mr. Archer and Mr. Kite decide to wrap up. The others will be recorded tomorrow. Exhaustion is everywhere. I check my phone — it’s 12:47 a.m. My mother has fallen asleep while I’m still in the booth. This will be her life for the rest of my career. I don’t want that to happen every time I’m in the studio.

I got twelve texts from Harry:
10:08 PM Babe we’re done. Are you free or still busy?
10:20 PM Babyyyy, how’s it going? I’m on my way.
10:27 PM I’m here. Guess you’re busy.
10:28 PM Didn’t text and drive.
10:33 PM Oh no! Still busy. I’ll wait.
10:40 PM Have you eaten?
10:45 PM I’m in my dressing room.
11:26 PM I fell asleep. Still there?
11:30 PM Please don’t hesitate to tell them if you’re tired. Mr. Kite and Mr. Archer are understanding.
11:35 PM Maybe I’ll just drive to you. I already ate—lads made me. Hope you ate too.
11:41 PM How’s the recording?
11:45 PM Just listening to music here.

I laugh at his texts. I already ate with the team. I wake my mother before heading to Harry.
“Mom, I’ll just go to Harry’s dressing room. He’s waiting for us.”
“Okay. I’ll wait in the lobby then.” Mom says.

I don’t reply to Harry—maybe he’s fallen asleep or doing something. I hurry to Harry’s dressing room. The light shines from under the door.

When I enter, Harry is sleeping on the sofa. His hair is messy, his neck resting on the armrest. His face is half-covered by his hair. Even his snore sounds cute—this is going to be one of my favorite things about him. I hear the rhythm of his breath. I stroke his hair aside to see his face. He looks so peaceful, like a sleeping baby. I’ve never seen him sleep before. This is my favorite view ever. I like seeing him so vulnerable, light, and adorable. His eyelids flutter, and I snicker. He’s probably dreaming. He squeezes his eyes shut then opens them slowly. I’m an inch from him, but he doesn’t seem surprised. He smiles, his eyes lighting up.

“Why are you looking at me?” he asks, his voice angelic.
“I’m not looking.” I deny.

I lose my balance and—oh god—I’m falling on him! He catches me, touches my cheek, brushing it with the back of his hand.

“Then what are you doing?”
“I’m gazing.” I smile.
“You’re so beautiful.”

I can’t help it any longer—I give up and kiss him. He sits up properly but doesn’t move his lips from mine. I sit on his lap and run my fingers through his hair. It’s so soft and smooth, just like his lips. I don’t know why, but the more we kiss, the more I want. This is what love is about: loving someone every single day, even though they’re already yours.

I snap back to reality when I remember my mother is waiting for us. We stand hand in hand—it’s the first time we hold hands. The way he holds mine feels like he never wants to let go.

“I’ll go straight to my room. I’m really sleepy.” Mom says as we pull up at the front porch. She kisses me on the forehead and leaves.

“Wanna go inside?” I ask Harry.
“Nah, you need sleep too.”
“But I don’t think I can sleep after that loooong day.” I say, dragging out the o.

I look at him flirtatiously—I’m not sure if I’m doing it right.
“You’re so cute.” He pinches both my cheeks. “Fine.”

Then he pecks me on the lips. We tiptoe to my room so mom won’t know my boyfriend is here. We’re out of breath from laughing quietly. We don’t turn on the light, letting the moon and stars light the room as we lie on the bed.

“What keeps you holding on?” I ask suddenly.
“What do you mean?” I feel the intensity in his eyes.

“In life,” I start. “It’s been a month since I started this new thing, but it’s still hard to adjust. I’m learning to love it, but it’s really hard.” I sigh. “And exhausting.”

He finds my hand and squeezes it.
“Dream,” he murmurs so softly I almost don’t hear it. “I promised a friend of mine that no matter how hard life gets and the path I choose, I will keep holding on.”

He releases my hand and points outside.
“That star,” he says, pointing to the brightest one. “I talk to that star and imagine it’s a friend who gave up on life.”

I look at him and see tears.
“I wish I did something to save her,” he says, shaking his head. “But I didn’t know. She just… gone. Without saying goodbye.” His voice breaks as he sobs.

“She sounds like Britney.”

I realize I’m crying too—my voice shakes.
“Yeah,” he says, uncertain.
“Why did you never mention her?”
“Because I didn’t want you to think about her.” He sniffs and sighs.

I don’t know who ‘her’ is—Britney or his friend? I usually feel safe when Harry is around; our bond holds even when apart. But tonight, even lying skin-to-skin, I feel distance between us. His eyes look different. He’s hiding something, but I’m too tired to push him to say what it is.

The recording is finally done—six long months of work, sleepless nights, and priceless lessons. We released my first single a month ago, and today we’re celebrating the release of my debut EP: seven songs, all pieces of me.

I’m wearing a luxurious gown designed mom and I bought in the mall. I feel untouchable in this dress. I wanted it to be gold, but it’s white—with a slit on the left side that adds just the right amount of drama. They curled my hair and pinned it to one side. Even mom looks stunning tonight, wearing a gown she never imagined she’d ever wear again. Her hair is in a neat updo, and her makeup is simple but gives her eyes a soft, glowing light.

The venue is elegant. A red carpet runs through the middle, surrounded by round tables. Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, casting a golden glow over everything. A long table stretches along the side, filled with food that makes my mouth water. This party isn’t just for me—it’s for the whole team. We built this record together.

Harry slips his arm around my waist and kisses me on the cheek.
“Congratulations, darling.”
“If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have made it here.” I say with a smile.

People keep coming up to congratulate me. I wish I could invite my friends, but they’re across the world, studying their dream courses, while I’m here sipping champagne and living this surreal life.

“You’re not supposed to drink this.” Harry says, taking the glass from my hand.
“But…”
“No buts. You’re underage.” he grins mischievously.
I roll my eyes.

My mother doesn’t stop chatting with everyone around her, enjoying herself. We haven’t talked about her illness since arriving here. I secretly hope that choosing this path might encourage her to finally go see a doctor.