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paozuni · 5 days ago

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I'm Paola, and I'm currently writing a slow-burn romance called High Hopes. This story follows Nat, a woman in her late 20s figuring out her life after finishing her master’s degree in the UK.

What was supposed to be her last summer in Manchester turns into an unexpected stay at her friend Emma’s family home—where she meets Emma’s brother, Harry. Nat wasn’t expecting much from this summer—just one last stretch of calm before everything changes. But between firelit conversations, unexpected friendships, and him—with his quiet smirks and maddeningly effortless charm—maybe this summer is about more than she thought.

This story isn’t fanfiction, but let’s just say… if I had to cast my main lead, well—Harry Styles, call me 👀

If you love slow-burn tension, found family vibes, and that feeling of a story unfolding in the golden glow of a late summer night, this one’s for you. 🌙✨

📖 High Hopes

#writing #originalfiction #slowburn #romance #newstory

Chapter 1 - Late June: Arrival in Disley

How many times have you heard people say that time flies? I remember my mom saying it often as I was growing up. At the time, I thought she was being dramatic; as a kid, life felt slow, like I was stuck waiting for the exciting parts to begin. But now, at 27, I get it. Time really does fly—especially the past year.

When I moved from Miami to Manchester to pursue my master's degree and the desire to start a new life in London, I knew it would be intense. But as much as a year of classes, tutoring sessions, seminars, and endless writing sounded long, it had vanished in a blur. Yet again, if I'm honest, I didn't know what to expect when I left home. For the first time in a long while, I was doing something that challenged me and gave me purpose. It drove me forward, but it also filled me with self-doubt.

Between tight deadlines and an intense schedule, though, I found one bright constant—Emma Harwood. Somehow, in all the madness of the year, she became my friend. And when she invited me to spend the summer at her family's house in Disley to finish our dissertations, I couldn't say no. Emma is the kind of person you don't forget. She's extroverted in the best way, with a self-confidence that's both enviable and disarming. Her carefree energy hides a grounded determination, with the kind of carefree charisma that draws people in effortlessly. She can hold a room with just a laugh, but she's also deeply grounded, always knowing exactly who she is and where she belongs.

At first, when she first offered her invitation to her family's house, I hesitated. Would I be comfortable living with strangers? What if her whole family shared her relentless energy, and I couldn't keep up? I'd spent the past year renting a tiny room where I could hide from the world, so the idea of suddenly sharing space felt daunting. But Emma's persistence won me over.

So, I packed my life into suitcases once more, boarded a train at Manchester Piccadilly Station, and set off for Disley, not knowing what lay ahead. After all, she was a better friend to me in a year than some people had been in my entire life back home so a part of me was reassured her intentions were honest and good.

Lost in my thoughts, the train ride went by faster than I expected. The screech of the brakes broke the quiet as we arrived at the small platform. At first sight, Disley wasn't exactly what I had imagined—though, to be honest, I wasn't sure what I had imagined. The air was cooler, with a fresh smell of rain and something faintly sweet I couldn't name. It felt like the kind of place where even your footsteps would echo in the quiet. I stepped off the train, with my bags in hand as I scanned the nearly empty platform. For a moment, I wondered if Emma had forgotten. And then I saw her — waving enthusiastically from a bench.

"There you are!" Emma called, bounding over with her usual energy. "Welcome to the middle of nowhere!" I laughed despite myself, some of my tension easing.

"It's...charming."

She pulled me into a hug before grabbing one of my bags.

"Come on, let's get you settled. Mum's been cooking all day." She drove us through the winding streets of Disley, the village unfolding like a postcard outside the window. From the passenger seat, I watched its quiet rhythm—the way people greeted each other with easy familiarity, the kind of place where everyone seemed to know everyone. I couldn't help but wonder what I'd gotten myself into. A place like this didn't let you disappear into the background, and I wasn't sure I wanted to be noticed. But it was too late to turn back now. Before I knew it, we were pulling up to the Harwoods' house.

Emma hadn't exaggerated when she described her family home. The brick-fronted house looked plucked from a storybook, with flower boxes overflowing with bright blooms and a door that practically invited you in. The scent of something baking greeted us the moment we stepped through the threshold, warm and inviting.

"Mum! Nat's here!" Emma called as she kicked off her boots.

From the kitchen emerged Mrs. Harwood, an apron dusted with flour tied around her waist. She was exactly as Emma had described — warm eyes, a quick smile, and the kind of presence that instantly put you at ease.

"You must be Nat," she said, enveloping me in a hug before I could even say hello. It's lovely to finally meet you. Emma's told us all about you. Come in, dear, you must be starving."

I stepped further into the house, feeling both comforted and completely out of place. The wooden floors creaked softly underfoot, and the faint hum of a kettle in the kitchen added to the homely atmosphere. It reminded me of a childhood memory I couldn't quite put my finger on.

By the time Emma ushered me into the dining room, the table was already set with steaming bowls and plates of what could only be described as comfort food. It felt indulgent compared to the quick, thrown-together meals I'd been surviving on in Manchester.

"Dad! Harry! Dinner!" Emma called as she carried a plate of roast potatoes to the table.

Mrs. Harwood leaned in with a knowing smile. "They'll come when they're hungry enough. Sit, dear."

I slid into a seat next to Emma, the hum of quiet family conversation filling the room. Moments later, Mr. Harwood arrived, his booming laugh and warm handshake making me feel, at least temporarily, like I wasn't an intruder in their world.

And then came Harry.

He entered the room without much fanfare, his presence understated but noticeable. He was taller than I expected, with sharp features and an air of quiet confidence that seemed at odds with Emma's sunny energy.

"And this is my brother, Harry," Emma said, her tone light. "Don't mind him; he's grumpy by nature."

Harry shot her a look, but his lips quirked into a small smile. "Charming introduction, as always." He turned his gaze to me and nodded. "Nat, right? Nice to meet you." His voice was low, and I wasn't sure if his quietness was shyness or disinterest. I managed a polite smile and nodded back.

The dinner table felt like a scene out of a storybook — platters of steaming food, clinking silverware, and warm conversation filling the air. It was the kind of scene that made you feel both comforted and slightly out of place like you were watching a family memory unfold but weren't quite a part of it. Emma, of course, was in her element, bouncing from topic to topic, her energy filling the room.

"You know, Mum," she began, her eyes sparkling, "At first, Nat and I didn't talk too much. We were in the same classes, but it wasn't until the second half of the year that we really clicked."

Mrs. Harwood tilted her head, her curiosity evident. "Oh? What changed?"

Emma laughed, glancing at me. "I think I was just too much at first. Wasn't I Nat?" I felt caught off guard, suddenly all the attention was focused on me. "Not really, I just hadn't figure out how to keep up," I replied a bit nervous.

"Yet, while everyone else was always bouncing between projects, barely keeping track of deadlines Nat was the one who helped me keep my feet on the ground." I felt the attention shift to me again and shrugged modestly. "I just reminded you to submit your essays on time."

Emma placed her hand over her chest in mock dramatics. "Nat. Don't undersell it. You saved me from academic doom!"

"Sounds more like she had to learn how to put up with you," Harry said dryly, his tone carrying just enough humor to draw a round of chuckles. Emma threw him a playful glare but continued, undeterred.

"Anyway, I told Mum all about how you were this amazing writer who managed to keep me sane while also excelling at your own work. And I thought... why not invite you here for the summer? I mean, I had to convince you a bit, didn't I?"

I smirked, taking a sip of my water. "You mean relentlessly badger me until I caved?"

Emma grinned triumphantly. "Exactly! I couldn't let you spend the summer locked away in your flat, stressed about your dissertation. And look, here you are."

"Good to know Emma's tactics are as pushy as ever," Harry quipped, a smirk tugging at his lips. Emma shushed him with a laugh.

"Oh, be quiet, you. I'm sure she'll love it here." Then, Mrs. Harwood spoke, her voice soft but certain.

"We're happy to have you, Nat. For as long as you need. You've clearly been a wonderful friend to Emma."

Mr. Harwood, ever the jester, grinned broadly. "Anyone who can keep up with Emma's lively energy deserves a spot in our house."

Laughter bubbled around the table, and I found myself joining in, my heart lighter than it had been in weeks. "Thank you, I appreciate it."

Then, Harry whispered was sitting next to Mrs. Harwood leaned back in his chair and glanced at his mother. "Should I bring out the dessert from the café?" Mrs. Harwood nodded. "Good idea. It'll go perfectly with tea."

"Oh, is this the famous Harwood café that Emma always mentions?" I asked, curiosity sparking. Emma leaned closer, her voice brimming with pride. "The one and only. Mum and Dad started it years ago, and Harry manages a lot of it now that he's back in Disley. Wait until you see it — it's practically a village landmark."

Harry returned with a tray of pastries, their golden edges glistening under the soft light. The smell of chocolate and fruit filled the air, and as he set it down, I caught a fleeting look of quiet satisfaction on his face. It wasn't the smugness of someone showing off, but something gentler — pride, maybe, or the comfort of familiarity. Emma wasn't done.

"I'll give you the full tour of Disley tomorrow. The café's the first stop, of course." "Sounds perfect." I nodded, already feeling the weight of her enthusiasm.

As everyone began serving themselves dessert, I let myself relax into the moment, surrounded by the warm hum of family conversation. For the first time in a long time, the ache of displacement softened, replaced by something gentler. The Hardwood's seemed like a warm family, definitely less energetic than Emma but still, with her lively and chattery presence. Harry especially seemed to be the most quiet one among them, yet his playful demeanor with Emma showed a side of him that only comes from being comfortable with the people around him.

After dinner, Emma led me up the creaky staircase, her energy dimmed but still present in her warm smile. Harry followed behind us, carrying my bag effortlessly. I glanced back at him as he climbed the stairs, his expression unreadable but not unkind.

"Second door on the left," Emma said, pushing open the door to a cozy, sunlit room. The wooden floors were polished to a warm sheen, and a small desk sat by the window overlooking the garden. It was simple, but it felt... safe.

Harry set my bag down by the bed, straightened, and gave a brief nod. "Let me know if you need anything."

"Thank you," I said softly. With that, he turned and left, the sound of his footsteps fading down the hall. Emma lingered in the doorway, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed. Her usual playful energy seemed muted, replaced by something softer.

"You know," she began, her voice quieter than usual, "when I first thought of inviting you here, I wasn't sure if you'd say yes." I smiled faintly, running my hand over the quilt on the bed.

"I wasn't sure either." Emma chuckled, stepping further into the room.

"But I'm glad you did. It means a lot to me, having you here." I looked up, surprised by the earnestness in her tone. Emma, for all her chatter and charm, rarely paused long enough to let her emotions show so openly.

"You've been such a good friend this past year," she continued, sitting on the edge of the desk. "I know I can be... a bit much sometimes. Okay, a lot much. But you've always been there, keeping me grounded. I just... I wanted to give something back, you know?" Her words settled over me like a warm blanket. I felt a lump rise in my throat, but I swallowed it down, managing a small smile.

"Emma, you don't have to ... "

"Stop," she said, holding up a hand. "This summer, this house — it's not just for you to finish your dissertation. It's for you to breathe, okay? To just... be. No pressure, no deadlines, just you."

I nodded, unable to find the right words to respond. She smiled and stood, brushing her hands against her jeans.

"Okay, I'll leave you to unpack. Let me know if you need anything, yeah?" As she reached the door, she paused and turned back, her expression a mix of fondness and mischief.

"Oh, and Nat? Welcome home." Before I could respond, she was gone, her footsteps light as she made her way back downstairs.

I sat on the edge of the bed, looking around the room. The faint hum of the house enveloped me — the distant murmur of voices downstairs, the occasional creak of the floorboards, the gentle rustling of leaves outside the window. Emma's words echoed in my mind, and I wondered if maybe — just maybe — this could feel like one.

#harry styles #original fiction #british romance #young love #romance

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