Harry wasn’t working.

That was the mindset he carried when enjoying his life away from the spotlight, the stages, the award shows—trying to separate his personal life from his artistic one. Over the last two years, Harry realized he couldn’t keep allowing both worlds to blur together, leaving him without space to breathe.

To breathe away from the paparazzi. To breathe away from the fans. He loved his fans—truly—but moments like these were when he needed to disappear.

He wasn’t rude. Quite the opposite. With respect, he would ask if they could avoid photos and keep things to a short conversation, explaining that he was resting, traveling, keeping a low profile. Not working.

Setting boundaries had worked surprisingly well. Most fans respected it, though some still asked for photos or recorded him secretly to post online. He knew perfection wasn’t realistic. Sometimes he was flexible and agreed anyway—what did it really hurt?

That day, he was inside a vinyl record store, looking for a thoughtful gift for a friend. The Italian streets outside were warm, while he wore a black sweater, tailored trousers, a yellow tote bag slung over his right shoulder, and dark sunglasses. The shop wasn’t crowded—mostly older customers—which is why he wasn’t worried until—

There she was.

Wearing the store’s uniform, hands covering her mouth, clearly in shock. Normally, that reaction would make Harry tense, aware he’d been recognized. But instead, it made him smile. It was… adorable.

So he approached her, extending his hand while keeping that soft smile on his lips.

“Hey, how are you?” His smile widened when he heard her gasp again. “Harry. Nice to meet you.”