Lost Lovers // W2S

Zara didn't mean to pull away. It just sort of... happened.

At first, it was little things — replying a few hours later than usual, missing calls, zoning out during conversations. She was writing more. Listening more. Rewriting again. Something had cracked open in her after Cardigan, and now the songs wouldn't stop.

She was chasing it. Gripping it tight like it might disappear.

The studio had become her second skin — a haze of empty coffee cups, tangled headphone wires, and lyric pages with angry scrawls and soft, aching truths. Sometimes she didn't even realize how long she'd been there until her phone buzzed again with another where are you? text.

Most were from Talia.

A few from her mum.

And some — the ones she left unread the longest — from Harry.

He didn't complain. Not exactly. But his texts got shorter. The last time they saw each other, he'd made dinner, and she'd spent most of the night rewriting one verse in her head while he talked about a new Sidemen shoot.

She hadn't even noticed the silence until he said, "You're not here."

Zara blinked. "I'm literally right here."

"No, you're... somewhere else. In your head. Or in a song."

She'd wanted to argue, to tell him she was just tired, that she wasn't ignoring him, that it wasn't him — it was everything. The pressure. The attention. The weird feeling of people watching her try. Waiting to see if she'd mess it up.

Ever since the snippet was posted everything went crazy. Fans commented daily asking for the whole song. Or asking her to never pick up a microphone again.

She tried not to read the replies, but sometimes she scrolled anyway — half hoping for validation, half bracing for the blow. It was like she couldn't look away. Like some part of her needed to see if she could survive it.

She hadn't spoken to Harry properly in three days. Missed his FaceTime last night. Forgot to text him back the night before that. Her last message had been short — something like "studio ran late xx" — and he hadn't replied.

She told herself he was just busy. That this was normal. That not everything had to mean something. Until she saw him posting on Instagram.

Zara set her phone down and let her head fall into her hands. Her notebook stayed open in her lap, the words she'd written blurring slightly as her eyes burned.

She wanted to call. To say something. But everything felt too late and too tangled and too loud in her head. Instead, she picked up her pen again.

Wrote like it was the only thing she could do right.

"and isn't it just so pretty to think, all along there was some invisible string"

"tying you to me"

Harry missed her. And not just in the "haven't seen you in a bit" way — but in the "you're here, and still I feel like I'm losing you" kind of way. The worst kind. The quiet kind.

He hadn't heard from her properly in almost three days. Not really. And he knew she was writing — she was always writing now — but it still stung in places he didn't want to admit.

He was just about to head to bed when his phone buzzed.

Zara
[21:34pm] you up

For a second, he debated. Should he go to bed? Should he ignore it? He almost did. Almost convinced himself to leave her to her space.