"Harry?" you ask, opening the door to his dressing room, but there's no answer. Still, the lights were on and his water bottle was on the table, so he had been there.

You decide to go in and take a look. You were supposed to be on stage in ten minutes, and Simon had asked you to come pick him up. You look around the dressing room; there's no sign of him. How strange, Harry's always the most punctual of all.

You decide to turn around to leave, but your eyes fall on the desk. More specifically, on Harry's letter notebook, the one he never wants you to see, the one he keeps so private. You sneak up on him as if the notebook were going to bite you. You reconsider opening it five times or not; after all, it's private. But... if it falls and opens on its own, you wouldn't be invading his privacy, would you?

You slide the notebook to the edge of the table and let it fall open in the middle. You begin to read the collection of words written in Harry's handwriting. The three songs on those pages are all about a woman—I'd even say the same one. Dark skin, brown eyes, long hair, light tattoos on her hands, small scars, subtle freckles, a Scorpio—wait a minute.

You bend down to pick up the notebook and flip through the pages, reading each letter and slowly realizing...

"It's me..." you mutter to yourself, and at that moment you hear the dressing room door close. You quickly turn around and meet Harry's gaze.

"What are you doing here?" His gaze drops to your hands, to his notebook. "And with my notebook..."