Dear Harry,

I found a picture of you today. It's crumpled and dusty, but it's still you. You look so different in it. You look happy. There aren't any shadows under your eyes. Your hair curls delicately behind your ear. Dimples frame your cheeks, accompanied by a bright smile, almost as bright as the sun. Almost. Is it sunny where you are? Do the people treat you kind?

Liam says I'm insane. He says I shouldn't keep writing you these letters. He says you're not coming back. I'm not so sure. I'm still waiting for the day when I can see your face again, even if it's not for a hundred years.

The days and nights have gotten colder with you not around. Zayn and Liam have officially come out as a couple, did you know that? Did you see it on the news? Niall also won his first grammy, have you read about that as well? I bet you'd be so proud of him.

There's not much about me on the news. Ever since you left for New York, I've sort of closed myself off from society. Gemma asked about you. I'm surprised you didn't reach out, not even to her? Is everything okay?

I heard a couple people whispering about about you. They read something on a website. When I searched it up, I really didn't believe what I was reading. 'One Direction member Harry Styles takes his own life', it read. I can't describe it in full, I just know you're still out there. You promised me you'd stay safe, and that you'll always remember me. You told me the night you left. "I'll never forget you, Lou," you said. It sounds selfish, but something inside me yearns for the article to be false.

There was no mention of a body, no further information, just a few conspiracies and a dodgy, unbelievable website. Have you read it? Are you reading it now, sat in bed with your laptop in your lap? Are you missing me as much as I'm missing you?

I'm looking through one of our old photo albums. My legs are crossed and there's a glass of vodka on the desk next to me. I've started drinking more again. I hope you don't mind as much as you did when you were here. The drinks don't taste the same as they used to, either. It's not the same when there's no one to get drunk with you.

Another photo. This one's of you in bed. Your eyes are sleepy. I think you'd just woken up when I took it. You look so peaceful. Not to quote ABBA but sometimes I wish that I could freeze the picture, and save it from the funny tricks of time.

That was corny, sorry.

How is the NYC life treating you? Have you met anyone new? Do they make you feel as loved as you made me? Do they let you watch the notebook with them, even if it's the fifth time that week, because it's always been your favourite movie? Do they make you candlelight dinners and card their fingers through your hair because you always go on about how that's one of your favourite things?

I haven't. Zayn's trying to put me out there for online dating. I personally think those websites are a joke. Come on, total strangers clicking on your profile and reading all about you? No thanks.

I had another dream about you last night. Well, it felt more like a flashback. We were lying in bed, tangled in each other's grasp. I was playing with a curl in your hair and you were fast asleep, your back to me. You're so pretty when you sleep, Harry. So, so pretty. Did you know that? Anyway, you rolled over to face me. Your eyes were still closed and I could feel your soft breathing against my chest. I let go of the strands of hair I'd been curling around my finger and brought you closer to me. You were shorter than me at the time. I still remember this moment today. I remember you smiling in your sleep, those little dimples of yours prominent as I held you. "I love you," I'd whispered into your hair.

You don't remember that, do you? I wouldn't be surprised. You were sleeping, after all. That was the first time either of us had spoken those three words to the other. It felt like such a relief on my heart. Did you hear me, Haz? Did you hear me whisper those words to you as you dreamt?

Mum's calling me to dinner, now. I came back to see everyone one last time before I go touring. I'll pick this up when I get back.

For now, goodbye, Harry.

I love you, from Lou.