As soon as they found out that the handsome singer who was starting to gain attention beyond England was going to play at their favorite bar, Isabella’s friends wasted no time planning a girls’ night out. Just the girls. They insisted on it, laughing and swearing it would be harmless. Of course, her boyfriend didn’t like the idea—not even a little—but Isabella went anyway, promising herself it was just music, drinks, and friendship. The bar was already crowded when they arrived, dim lights spilling over worn wooden tables and sticky floors, the air buzzing with anticipation. When Harry Styles finally stepped onto the small stage, guitar slung low against his hips, Isabella felt it immediately—the shift in the room, the way conversations hushed without anyone realizing it. He was undeniably more handsome in person: messy blond curls, sharp jaw, an effortless confidence that didn’t seem rehearsed. As the night went on, Bella noticed something that made her heart stutter. His gaze kept finding her. Between songs, during the choruses, even when he leaned into the microphone with that crooked smile—his eyes always drifted back to where she stood with her friends. She told herself she was imagining it, that she’d had one drink too many. Still, the attention lingered, warm and thrilling. She liked it. She hated that she liked it. Isabella reminded herself—she had a boyfriend. She avoided holding Harry’s gaze for too long, focused instead on her friends’ laughter, the condensation on her glass, the lyrics echoing around the room. Yet every time she looked back at the stage, there he was again, watching her like she was the only person in the bar. By the time the show ended, her nerves were stretched thin. Outside, the cool night air hit her flushed skin as she stepped onto the sidewalk, pulling her jacket tighter around herself. She scrolled through her phone, calling her boyfriend for what felt like the tenth time. Voicemail. Again. And again. Frustration twisted in her chest as her friends lingered nearby, already making plans to leave with other people. She sighed, running a hand through her hair, staring down at the glowing screen. From across the street, Harry leaned against the brick wall of the club, a cigarette between his fingers. He’d been watching her for a while now—the way she paced, the way her smile had faded, the irritation clear on her face. After a moment, he pushed himself off the wall and walked over, his presence calm, unhurried. “I can take you home, if you want.” He said gently as he stopped in front of her. Isabella looked up, startled, her breath catching for just a second.