IMAGINES: Celebrity Encounters Starring You (70 page)

“I’m glad to hear that. . . . Um, should I, you know? Leave you to your business alone?” he suggests, blushing a bit himself and trying to contain a nervous smile.

You just feel humiliated. “I thought we were having a nice chat, you know?” You close your eyes immediately, knowing you’re just saying stupid things. Maybe now you also have a fever. “I’m sorry.”

Although you feel miserable, he is at least chuckling to himself.

“It’s nice, but it’s kinda weird having it here, and there’s something poking me from behind and it kinda hurts, you know? Not that you’re not lovely or I don’t want to spend time with our fans, but . . . you know? I mean, you’re the best fans on the planet.”

It’s your turn to laugh at his consideration and words, but that would be a mistake. Laughing makes you lose control, and things that shouldn’t happen in front of other people occur. You contort yourself in an almost-unnatural position, wrapping both arms around your stomach and practically losing your balance.

“I think you really need to be left alone,” he says, doing his best to control his facial expression.

You’re incapable of saying anything and do your best to move aside so he can leave. That was the first thing you should’ve done, but when you’re feeling so poorly, it’s to be expected your brain doesn’t work properly.

Since you had slammed the door closed, it’s jammed, and you want to cry when you see him struggling to open it. And that moment your guts start to cry out to tell you they can’t endure it anymore, and it’s that kind of sound you make at the worst time,
like when you’re in an exam and everyone is quiet, your stomach rumbles and they pretend they didn’t hear but they do . . . just like Niall does now. It’s evident by the way he tries harder to open the door, and when it finally works, he flies out, barely mumbling a good-bye, and finally you’re alone.

“This is the worst day of my life,” you murmur to yourself. “Even if I met Niall Horan, I just traumatized him.”

AFTER SOME MOMENTS
in miserable solitude, you go back to your seat, feeling physically a lot better, though emotionally devastated. You make sure to hide for the rest of the flight, cursing your luck. Even if you were blessed to be on the same plane as One Direction, you had to get food poisoning when you actually got the chance to meet one of the members.

“I take back what I thought before. Karma is a total bitch,” you whisper to yourself, trying to fall asleep.

And you curse your luck even more because you’re in the air and can’t text your friend, who’s always been there every time you needed her, just one text message away. You’re all alone with your humiliation now.

When you land in London, there’s no sign of the biggest boy band in the world, but your friend is waiting for you, with a sign especially made for you. The encounter is emotional and loving; you two hug tightly, happy to finally meet in person after years of online friendship, countless Skype calls, and endless text chats. You are closer to her than to anyone in your school or neighborhood. No one understands you better than her, and just being with her makes you feel better after your ordeal.

When you tell her what happened on the plane and how you met, and emotionally scarred, Niall Horan, she laughs at your rotten luck and the improbability of the meeting. “Focus on the
bright side: meeting Niall whilst humiliating yourself is quite better than not meeting him at all.”

You just whine, not able to see it like that just yet.

HOWEVER, A FEW DAYS LATER,
when things start going better and the concert approaches, you can see the bright side and actually agree with your friend. By the time it’s finally the day of the concert, you have totally put that experience—and the whole fiasco of that day—behind and are ready to enjoy the last concert and then cry your eyes out.

At Motorpoint Arena you and another almost fourteen thousand people wait for One Direction to take the stage. The moment the lights dim, you scream along with everyone else, then scream even louder when the first chord sounds and they show up. You sing your lungs out, not believing you’re so close to them. You dance and cry out of sheer excitement, proud of your One Direction T-shirt and so glad your friend is there, holding your hand and reminding you this band is what brought so many blessings to your life.

The first songs fly by, and your levels of adrenaline and excitement are so high it’s as if you’ve drunk ten energy drinks and twenty cups of coffee. But then it’s the moment for the band to make official introductions and talk to the audience, and you can’t help yourself—you’re shaking like a little Chihuahua.

At some point you swear Harry makes eye contact with you, but so does your friend, and probably so do all the girls around you. It doesn’t matter, it feels like he did and waved at you.

When you see Niall passing by, though, you feel a bit of the shame coming back, though not enough to ruin the moment.

That is, until he sees you. Yes, out of all the other people in the VIP section, he spots you. True, you’re quite close, just two
seats from the stage, but still, he spots you. And you know that because he points at you with wide eyes that only mean he’s recognized someone in the audience, right before he bursts out laughing, confusing his bandmates and everyone in the audience. It’s that rich and lovable laughter that every fan can immediately recognize, and on this occasion you are the catalyst of that reaction.

He walks a bit closer to the edge, making fans scream and try to reach him, but you stay where you are, frozen as you feel his eyes on you. Your friend squeezes your hand as tightly as you crush hers.

“You’re the loo girl!” he says into the microphone for everyone to hear. “On the plane!” He laughs again.

That’s all the confirmation you need—he really
is
talking to you. In front of
everyone
.

“Did you feel better after that?” he asks.

Wanting to cry and hoping the earth will open and swallow you whole, you just nod and give him a thumbs-up. You know more fans are watching you, wondering what happened and how you met Niall Horan.

“Good! You looked quite desperate.” He smiles fondly, still amused at the situation. “That’s quite the story you got. Make sure to tell it to your grandchildren.” You just make that silent sobbing gesture because you can’t even cry for real. You just know your face is brighter than any sign in that arena. “Enjoy the concert—and don’t get sick again!”

Giving you one last bright and wide smile, he turns to whisper something in Louis’s ear, just to make him widen his eyes and laugh out loud with him. If you didn’t love their laughter so much, especially Niall’s, which no matter what always makes you laugh too, you’d be crying on the floor. For now, you just hide your face behind your hands, not believing he recognized you
in the crowd. And that he told the others what happened on the plane.

“The next song is dedicated to all our incredible fans! You’re absolutely amazing,” Niall says louder, speaking to the whole crowd again. “Especially to a fan I met on a plane. Life never ceases to amaze us, right? When you think you’ve seen it all, it surprises you again.” He then turns in your direction for one of his signature winks that always give you a cardiac arrest. “This is ‘No Control’!”

The music starts and the crowd goes wild, completely forgetting what happened. Still, your friend screams in your ear to say,
“I CAN’T BELIEVE NIALL HORAN RECOGNIZED YOU IN THE CROWD! YOU ARE SO LUCKY!”

You laugh at that, what else could you do? Luck or bad luck, you really can’t tell.

Karma is a bitch, but it also gives you good things to balance it all. As your friend says, you just have to look at the bright side. Niall Horan just dedicated a song to you during the band’s last concert before their hiatus.

And who knows? Maybe Niall will still remember you and spot you in the crowd next time.

A fangirl can always hope, right? At least dreams are for free and you can afford them, not like concert tickets.

On the bright side, you have a year to save money for said concerts.

I
t was a spring evening in California. Stepping out of the hot, soothing shower, you reminisced on a special night two years ago. . . .

Being twenty-four, you had been an anxious, excited mess. As you smiled at the heart-racing experience, a simple chuckle left your mouth. Two years ago tonight, you had been sitting on the edge of your bed looking ahead to the next day, your wedding day. You were young, but so in love. You were naïve, but so sure of your choice. You were scared, but felt secure with the man you (today) call your husband.

Denied your reflection now in the foggy mirror, you drew your husband’s name, Justin, with a heart to dot the
i
. Wanting to ditch the cold draft, you dried off and began to get dressed. As you pulled one of his shirts down your frame, you thought about your anniversary tomorrow.

Coming out of the bathroom, you found Justin writing in a notebook that he had steadied in his lap as he rested in bed. Maybe he was writing a song. Realizing your presence, he quickly closed his notebook and slid it to the side. Hearing the notebook hit the floor, you raised an eyebrow. He didn’t realize you could see that?

“Hey, babe.” He greeted you with a warm smile. As he readjusted
in bed, his hair came down into his face. You love it when he wears his hair down. It’s relaxed and effortless. It’s sexy to you, but back to his poor attempt at secrecy.

You smirked at his failed discretion. “Whatcha doing over there, Bieber?” Your fuzzy slippers glided over the plush white carpet.

Justin smiled at your awkward movements and defended his actions: “I’m not doing anything. I’m just chilling, waiting for you to get out of the shower.” If he wasn’t going to bring up the notebook, you weren’t either. He didn’t want you to know, and you were patient enough to find out later.

You jumped into bed, leaving your slippers on and planting your bum on your heels.

“Sooo, about tomorrow . . .” You tilted your head.

Justin narrowed his eyes, bringing his closed fist to his chin. “Hmmmm . . . What’s tomorrow? May fourteenth. There’s nothing too special about the day.” Then he laughed as your jaw dropped.

Picking up two of the many down pillows, you tossed them at him, punishing him for his lies. “Don’t do that!” You jumped on top of him, making him tumble over with his laughs. “Tomorrow’s our two-year anniversary. You know that!”

“I completely forgot,” he proclaimed, his voice muffled under the pillows. He didn’t even try to fight you off.

Removing a pillow, you found his face. “Are you going to keep playing these games?”

He shifted under your weight. “Are you going to keep wearing my shirts?”

“I always wear them. They’re pretty much mine. Plus, you love when I wear your clothes.”

“I was in such a rush yesterday that I picked one off the floor and was stuck smelling like your perfume all day.” He pinched your thigh, making you jump.

“Stop.” You swatted his hand. “What was it doing on the floor, anyways?” You looked around the clean room. You don’t just throw clothes around, and you damn sure don’t let him get away with it.

He gave you a cheeky expression. What did you do to be rewarded with this cuteness?

“What?” you asked, pouting with confusion.

“So, you don’t remember?”

What was he talking about?
You thought about it, but nothing came to mind.

“Like I didn’t take it off you and throw it—”

“Oh!” You quickly covered his mouth as if someone might hear. “Yes, about that.” You giggled, taking away your shielding hand to tuck your blinding hair behind your ear. Swiping away his hair, you wanted to see his sculpted face.

“You’re just going to forget about me like that? Must I remind you how it went?” He quickly sat up, flipping you over. A squeal might have slipped from you. Grabbing the shirt by the collar, he lifted you up and sealed your lips with his. “Let me remind you.” He took the shirt off you and tossed it onto the floor.

You loved it when he took charge.

“Come here, boy.” You enticed him with a kiss.

BRIGHT SUNLIGHT
woke you up the next morning. Why must the rays always be so rude as to be in your face? Why are the blinds even open?

You sighed, wanting to go back to sleep. Then, you remembered it was your anniversary, but you didn’t turn over to Justin’s side. You’re not mad at him, but you were a bit underwhelmed by his reaction to your anniversary last night. A
nd what was with that notebook
 . . .
?

Turning over, you’re all set to push him out of bed—but then you realized he’s not there. Where was he?

Instead of him, you discovered a heart-shaped note on his pillow.

“Justin?” you called, only to receive silence in return.

You picked up the red heart and read,
Good morning, baby. Can you believe we’ve been married for two years already? I feel insanely lucky waking up beside you every day. To know you choose me daily is the best gift. I thank God every day that he led me to you. Now, it’s your turn to use your memory and imagination to lead you to me.

You flipped the heart over and it continued,
Your first clue: after a long night, we both need one of these. ;)

Oh, you’re a clever boy.
He’d been arranging a scavenger hunt in that notebook, you were sure of it. This should be interesting.

“The answer to the first clue is a shower,” you said, and scurried to the edge of your bed. Knowing your limbs and muscles were sore from last night, you took your time to rise to your feet. Yawning at the morning sun, you got out of bed and danced into the bathroom. On the shower floor, you spotted a yellow heart. Sliding the glass doors, you felt like a giddy kid picking up your next clue:
You think you’re good at this, don’t you? :) Get washed up, baby. You have a long day ahead of you. Your second clue: I love each time our lips meet. Your lips are oh so sweet, like your favorite treats.