Heavy Heart

“So remember, the First Law of Philosophy is that for every philosopher, there exists and equal, yet opposite philosopher. And the Second Law of Philosophy is that they’re both wrong,” Daria’s Modern Philosophy professor, Dr. James, joked, earing a round of laughs from his class. “Keep that in mind throughout the semester. I’ll see you in two days.”

As she stood up to collect her belongings, Daria couldn’t help but feel extremely proud of herself for making it through the first day of classes. Not only was she completely unscathed, but she actually complacent with how everything had gone, from her professors to the course load, as laid out in the syllabus. Already, she was done with classes for the day, and the sun had just barely past noon.

Suddenly, there was a light tap on her shoulder, and Daria snapped around to face the source. She was met with the face of a girl, seemingly her same age, with a round face and large eyes the color of blue china.

“You live in Shackleton, right?” the girl asked. Still shocked at being approached, Daria couldn’t find the words to signal her answer. “In the two bedroom at the end of the hall?”

Daria nodded. “I’m in the eight person at the start of the hall,” the girl continued, a friendly smile spreading across her face. “I’m Elizabeth. But you can call me Litzy.”

Flustered, Daria nodded again, extending her hand before retracting it to her side. She didn’t know if handshakes were something that people in England were particularly interested in, or if a simple exchange of words would be enough. But before she could tuck her hand back into her bag, Litzy put forth her hand and Daria embarrassedly reached back to shake it.

“Daria,” she introduced, feeling her socially awkward tendencies taking over. “I’m sorry, but I really have to be going.”

“Oh, of course,” Litzy replied, her blonde bob swaying as she adjusted her backpack on her shoulder. “I’ll see you around okay?”

Daria gave her a weak wave, then proceeded to rush out of the lecture hall in the calmest manner she could manage. Immediately, she regretted brushing the sweet girl off, gripping her fists so tight her nails left little half-moons in her palms. The whole point in coming here was to get a fresh start, to learn how to breathe again, how to function again. Pushing away anyone who tried to make contact with her wasn’t going to make much of a difference.

But all those frustrations were shaken from her head when she remembered: she had a plan for the rest of her day. It was young, still promising, full of potential. The skies were the purest blue she’d ever seen, a rarity in England so she heard, and it would be a shame not to take an advantage of the beauty. And if she couldn’t bring herself to be social – because that was certainly too much for her at the moment – she could do something even better. So, she decided with finality, she would catch the bus into London and go exploring.

It was a long, two hour ride into the city. It was just Daria and the middle aged, fattened bus driver, so she was able to focus on doing some reading for her philosophy class. She decided that had been her favorite one of the day, but that was a little biased seeing as philosophy was one of her majors. All the same, she got her entire reading done, complete with notes, before watching the English countryside pass by outside her window.

Finally, they reached the city limits, the sight of the skyline taking the breath right out of Daria’s lungs. Already, she could see the outline of the London Eye, perched carefully on the outskirts of town. She’d been dreaming about that moment for months, that proverbial moment when she would finally wake up. Something in her heart told her that things were going to change that day, something in her heart told her that would be the turning point.

The driver dropped her off at the coach station, and Daria tumbled out like a bramble, clutching her purse and eyes bright to the world. The warm, early September sun shone down on her, catching the remains of yesterday’s rain in the puddles that lined the sidewalks. There were people everywhere, noise pressed her like an enclosing wall, and every step forward was a challenge through the throng. But Daria immediately knew that this was where she needed to be, and ambled deeper into the city, exploring every nook and cranny.

She poked her head into a bookstore in Regent’s Park, one of the northernmost neighborhoods of the city, to find an old man organizing books on one of the many shelves that lined the walls. The bell chimed above her, signaling her entrance. The man turned to glance over his shoulder, a grin spreading across his face upon setting his sights on her.

“I don’t know what you’re doing in here, miss,” he said with a chuckle, coming down off his ladder and wiping his hands on his dress pants. “There’s some big band doing some crazy thing in the park today. Everyone’s there watching.”

Daria’s eyebrows darted upwards, interest piqued. “Really? How far into the park?”

“It should be right around the corner. Haven’t you noticed how crazy it is around here today?”

She immediately felt embarrassed, because in honesty, she hadn’t noticed. “I’m not really from around here sir,” she mumbled, absently scratching at the patch of skin behind her ear. “This is only my fifth day in the country, and even still, I live in Birmingham. I thought this kind of traffic was normal.”

“Well, it sure as hell isn’t!” he chimed with a hearty laugh, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “Go, missy! You might still be able to catch them.”

Thanking him profusely, Daria ran back out of the bookshop and darted down the street, her heart racing. Nothing exciting ever happened in Middletown, nothing aside from the occasional festival and acts brought into town by the university. She couldn’t even fathom the fact that right around the corner, an apparently very famous band was putting on a show in the park.

But when she rounded the corner, she saw the crowd dispersing, buzzing with the excitement that the show had apparently left them with. Immediately, her heart sank, the momentum taken right out of her. The people around her spoke names she didn’t recognize, hummed tunes she didn’t know. Admittedly, Daria didn’t listen to much music, other than the jazz she played in the background while she studied. In all honesty, she probably didn’t deserve to see some big, exciting band in the most beautiful park in London.

Dejected, she made her way into a Starbucks down the street. Coffee was Daria’s biggest vice, the thing she turned to whenever she was stressed, or sad, or happy, or exhausted, or any other emotion, really. She had learned not to really rely on people after her mother’s disintegration, so instead Daria relied on coffee.

The aroma of the coffee shop was enough to soothe Daria’s soul, the sound of the espresso machine humming in the background reminding her of the Starbucks she haunted at home. If she closed her eyes, it would have felt like being at home, everything the same. That was what Daria loved about coffee – it was universal. No matter where she was, what she was doing, she could go into a coffee shop and order her regular, and it would always be the same.

“A grande iced coffee, with extra cream please,” Daria requested of the barista. She quickly calculated the amount in pounds from the usual amount in her own American dollars, despite that the number was listed on the menu just above her. She slid the exact change to the tall redhead behind the cash register, mustering the best smile she could before moving off to the side to wait.

Suddenly, there was a great commotion outside the café, flashbulbs illuminating the storefront like a strobe. Every head in the shop turned to see the source, greeted by the sight of a boy with unruly brown curls fighting his way through the crowd of photographers. The uproar spread through the shop like a shockwave, the once quiet spot now humming with excitement. Unable to recognize the boy, she felt extremely out of the loop among the whispers of the name “Harry Styles.”

He marched straight up to the barista, who had turned a rather pale shade of her natural skin color, and gave her a winning smile that even Daria felt the wattage of from as far away as she was. In a deep, husky voice, he proceeded to list off an order a dozen drinks long while the rest of the shop gossiped about his presence. Daria couldn’t help but watch him with star struck eyes – despite not truly knowing who he was. He was tall, several inches taller than her small frame to say the least, with large hands and an impeccable dress code. The blazer he wore, complete with a pocket square, was a dark burgundy shade, complimenting the dark wash of his jeans.

Her drink came up from the man who made it, who was also suffering from a case of sheer surprise. “Who is he?” she asked as quietly as possible, not wanting the boy to overhear her.

“You’re kidding,” the man intoned, wiping the counter with a washcloth. When he realized that she was indeed not kidding, he leaned forward on his elbows and said in the most serious voice possible, “He’s Harry Styles. From One Direction.”

One Direction, Daria mentally breathed to herself. She’d heard of the band before, in passing, but had never listened to their music. She certainly wouldn’t know Harry Styles from any other attractive man on the street. Bringing the straw to her lips, she watched as the boy approached the order counter to wait for his drinks. Stepping back a little, she realized he hadn’t even noticed her presence before he was quickly bombarded by patrons for photographs and signatures.

“Harry, I love you!” one girl cried as he gave her a hug, laughing a thick laugh over her shoulder.

“I love you too, love,” he murmured back, his accent rich. Rolling her eyes a little, Daria amused herself with making bets on what each new girl would cry out to their idol, whether they would ask for a picture or for an autograph. She had never been one for pop-star obsessions, only having a little crush on Nick Carter in the first grade. Daria was much too logical for that, to devote so much time and effort into someone who would never love her back. It was highly unlikely for the girls in that shop to have even met him that day, and it took all Daria had in her not to laugh at their ridiculous antics.

After a minute or two of non-stop photographs, the two trays full of drinks came up to the counter. Politely, Harry broke away from the crowd of people to grab his drinks, brushing past Daria. Never had she felt like such a wallflower, literally against the wall to get out of the way, completely ignored by the apparent ray-of-freaking sunshine that had suddenly entered the shop. He collected the drinks, balancing them carefully on his hands, and thanked the barista with yet another winning smile.

Something went wrong, however, because in a matter of seconds the boy managed to trip, and an entire tray of his drinks ended up all over Daria.

“Shit!” she cried out in pain, the combination of piping hot liquids scalding her straight through her blouse. She glanced up with terror in her eyes, only to see the same terror reflected in the eyes of a certain Harry Styles.

“Jesus Christ, I am so sorry love,” he apologized hurriedly, grabbing at some napkins on the counter. Tears rose in Daria’s eyes as she tried to mentally minimize the pain and embarrassment. He attempted to dab at her chest awkwardly before realizing just how inappropriate it was for him to be practically groping at a girl he didn’t know.

“Here,” he mumbled. He extended the crumpled handful of napkins to her. It was then that she realized that the flashbulbs had moved inside, documenting every moment of her most humiliating moment.

“Ow,” she whimpered, taking the napkins and pressing them to her badly burned chest, undoing the top couple buttons of her blouse to assess the damage. The boy in front of her was rambling incessantly, apologizing every other sentence he managed to squeak out.

“I really didn’t see you there, I’m so sorry,” he muttered, his eyes everywhere but her. “I don’t know how to make it up to you, I’m so sorry.”

She wished more than anything that she could melt into the floor and completely disappear forever. Now the murmurs that echoed through the shop were targeted at her, the small, quiet girl in near tears, scalded by the drinks of Harry Styles.

“Maybe you should watch where you’re going,” she spat back under her breath, exhaling shakily. “There’s more out there in the world than just you, you know.”

Her eyes finally met his, the bright, glassy green quality absolutely startling her. They were quiet for a moment, and he looked at her with an expression she hadn’t ever been looked at with before. It was a combination of realization and bemusement, tinged with a hint of laughter.

“I know you probably think I’m like that, but please be fair darling,” he murmured. “You hardly know me. Here, let me try.”

He then turned away from Daria, instead facing the mass of people still gathered around them. “Does anyone have a pen?” Immediately, a flock of pens were offered up to him from the various people still watching the scene unfold, and Harry plucked one of them from the crowd with a thank you. He then took another napkin from the counter and proceeded to scribble something in looping handwriting.

“Here,” he said confidently, handing her the napkin. Daria’s eyes traveled from his beaming face, clearly proud of himself, to the little scrawled number on the paper, emblazoned with the word ‘Harry’ just above it.

“Give me a call, and I’ll take you out to dinner or something,” he stated confidently. “I really do feel awful. It’s the least I can do.”

It took her a minute to realize what was happening, glancing slowly between the napkin and Harry’s bright grin. To Daria, it was very clear: Harry Styles thought he was so special that he could be completely forgiven by taking a normal girl like Daria Holmes out to dinner. He would appear like a saint to the community, and all she had to do was play along with it. She just needed to play her part to help boost him into sainthood.

Feeling completely idiotic, Daria fled the coffee shop, breaking through the wall of paparazzi and running down the street. She heard that husky voice calling out after her, begging her to wait, but her eyes were already set on the bus station back to Birmingham. She knew that come morning, everyone would know about how superstar Harry Styles of One Direction had spilled drinks all over her, and the attention was more than enough to make her vomit the barely digested remains of her iced coffee all over the street corner. There was no way in hell Harry Styles would be receiving a phone call from her.