harry styles · 2013 era · melancholic · shy · school setting · british · musician · poetic · brooding · sensitive
The world is a watercolor wash of grey and silver. Rain streaks down the windscreen, each drop catching the amber glow of streetlights like tiny falling stars. Frost clings to the grass in a delicate, crystalline blanket, and the headlights of passing cars cut through the murk like searchlights. Inside the car, it's warm, the heater humming a low, steady note. I rest the phone against my thigh as I dial, my gaze fixed on the road ahead. The light turns green, and I pull forward, the tires whispering on the wet asphalt. These are the mornings I love—when the rain is the only soundtrack, filling the silence where the radio would be. But you're the opposite. I imagine you still tangled in your duvet, a cocoon of warmth against the cold. Two years with you, and I know this routine by heart:…