"Hmph," I lugged myself out of bed as my alarm rang, not bothering to switch it off. I undressed myself, turned the shower on, and breathed as the cold water spattered and ran over my body, goosebumps appearing on the base of my back. Ten minutes later, I was still unconscious. I opened the bathroom door to find my alarm clock still ringing, which brought me into the wonderful world of consciousness.

"Come on Ayla, we don't want to be late!" My elder sister's voice rang through the door.

"Yes, yes, I'm nearly done," I replied. I dried my hair and quickly chose the randomest things to wear. Luckily, my sister insists on high-end brands, which all look pretty good together. I don't argue, it's not something I really consider important. I grab a book, my mobile and my purse, and head downstairs, nearly tripping over the laces of my high tops.

"Can't you put on some makeup?" my sister grabs my cheekbones as soon as I enter the kitchen.

"The short answer is no. I don't really know how and why I should put it on,"

"Okay. Well we haven't got much time now anyway. Eat this," she hands me an apple.

"No than-"

"No arguments."

"Fine. I'll eat it on the way."

We arrive at work in a black cab. My sister proudly opens the door and with her head held high, walks around the car and I have no option but to do the same. Except I don't bother with the posture, and she pats her hand on my back to encourage me to straighten up.

"Do it for me. Just for today."

"Why? Whats so specific about 'today'?"

"I've got a treat for you. We're going to a fundraiser party tonight!" she beams, and I mirror her beautiful face. She notices, pleased, and I frown again.

"Oh, that's cool," I try not to look phased by this. She smirks, seeing right through me. Sometimes I think my sister to be a bit dumb, but she does get me. So I don't mind her other more frustrating perks.

"What are you going to wear?" the conversation goes on like this for a while.

13 HOURS LATER

I stand on a stool, on my toes, chewing my thumb. Directly in front of me is a wardrobe, packed with unworn dresses and freshly pressed shirts.

Oh shit, I think to myself. I jump off the stool and look at the month's selection of fashion magazines my sister attempts to get me to read. I scan the pages, trying to find something that I recognise from the clothes I have.

Trainers! Those purple and green… my thought drifts as I realise that it would probably be unacceptable to wear trainers to a party, where there will probably be designers. It could probably be seen as quirky… a new trend… Ayla, don't even go there.

After a couple more minutes I find a familiar green dress in the 'fresh funness' section of a £4.20 magazine. I get frustrated at how people pay that amount of money to read bad grammar and sentences that don't even make sense, but quickly turn my attention back to dressing. I grab the dress from the wardrobe, and quickly search the small print in the article to find the label: "Fendi". I check the dress's label. Yep, this is the dress.

I walk downstairs, making effort with two layers of mascara and gemmed Fendi flats with weird eyes fastened on them – I think that this is pretty 'out there' – and cross my fingers.

"You forgot your bag."

"Oh yeah wait a se-"

"Make sure it's Fendi. If a magazine asks for your outfit labels you wanna make sure you remember them."

"Oh okay yep-"

"By the way, you look pretty hot,"

"I would say 'ditto', but you look beautiful, as always big sis,"

"Thanks rascal. Now get your bag," God she is so cool. Cooler than Alexa Chung cool.

We arrive at the venue in my brother-in-law's chauffeur-driven Range Rover. There are about ten photographers, but I would have expected more. I nearly trip as we enter, me being as clumsy as I am, but my brother-in-law steadys me with his hand.

"Watch yourself Ayla," and he laughs. I manage a smile, knowing inside that they wouldn't put me in the magazines – I'm just a non-existent 17-year-old girl.

I check my bag: yep, lipbalm, mobile (loaded with audiobooks – I know that I couldn't bring an actual book to a party like this), headphones and a few Werther's Originals (because catered food doesn't always fix sugar cravings).

I take a deep breath and we exit the small hallway we just passed through.

Holy crap, I think to myself, and my sister can see it on my face. This is amazing.

Blue lights streamed everywhere, and massive circular tables with various crockery and decorations planted on them, a huge stage and dancefloor.

After dinner - which I had to eat because it was so good (!)- I was nudged up onto the dancefloor. All night I had seen various celebrities take their turns on the stage, and talk about funny moments of their life or serious issues do to with the charity. My in-law made a great speech: he had practiced jokes with me beforehand, but didn't use them anyway, probably because I didn't laugh (but that's because I don't laugh at much, even if it is funny).

So I was nervous. I cannot dance if I had to save the entire world from an apocalypse. I didn't want anyone famous to think I was an idiot. And imagine if a slow song came on? Now that would be humiliating.

I moved to the very edge of the dancefloor, eyeing anyone that would be of importance to not see me trip over and face plant.

Elton John… move away.

Kate Moss… definite move away.

James Corden… he might be okay. So I moved behind where James Corden was waltzing with this woman, and I started twirling about. Okay, so I had a few ballet lessons, and spinning around isn't the problem for me. It's just the stopping. So I immediately regretted what I had just begun, and went into a bit of a flux. What the hell was I going to do now? Okay, Ayla, just stop. Just attempt to stop. Breathe in and… I was falling. And someone caught me.

THANK YOU GOD. THANK YOU.

I turned around to see a pretty… um... shall we say good-looking face? 6"4, about 30, 32 ish… Stop Ayla. Just stop. Say thanks to this guy who is staring at you, holding you in his (quite muscular) arms.

"Umm… thanks," I said. I stood and straightened myself up, trying to regain my stature and cool.

"No problem." He spoke. My eyes widened. Wow. Okay, don't let yourself be attracted to a man that's quite considerably older than you. You only fall in love with fictional characters, remember? Stop that.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Ben." He held out a hand, and I looked for mine. Nope, wrong hand. It's the other hand.

"Ditto, I'm Ayla." Why the hell did I say ditto? Oh god he's going to think I'm an uneducated freak. He laughs, like he's reading my thoughts.

"So, want to get off the dancefloor? Too many opportunities to trip."

"Sure." Yes, he's definitely reading my thoughts.

We head to a vacant table, and a waiter arrives with dirty plates in his hands, leaving quickly when he recognises Ben. He brings out a chair for me, and I jump. I hope that he didn't notice.

"Thanks," I remember to be grateful for things tonight, surprisingly. My sister looks over at me and smirks, and I see flashes of her face inbetween tens of others, as she dances and laughs gracefully with her husband. I smile, and the attention is brought back to Ben and me as he restarts the conversation.

"So, what are you doing here tonight?"

"I'm here with my sister and her husband. I guess I'm just eating dinner and trying to fit in and dance."

"Funny. I'm here to do the same."

"So… I've never really seen you before. What do you do?" He laughs heartily.

"I'm an actor. What do you do?" Modest.

I rack my brain, attempting to tell the truth without looking like a complete fool. "I study. I read books. I play music. Right now I'm working at Penguin." Not so modest. Well done Ayla.

"Wow. That's impressive. How old are you?"

"I am sixteen, going on seventeen… no, I'm seventeen. I used to be able to sing that, and I miss it." He laughs and stares into my eyes. I look away, but bring the contact back. It feels like he's touching my face, my arms, my neck, my hair, as he passes his gaze over me.

"I hope you don't mind me saying, but you're astonishingly beautiful." I blush. Great, now I'm red to the face because someone complimented me. Get a grip.

"Thank you…" What shall I say? Arghhh why is this so hard? "Ditto." NO NO NO ANYTHING BUT THAT! He laughs. I blush deeper.

"So, what do you want to be when you grow up? Oh, why am I even saying that? You've already got the dream job!" His skin catches the blue light, and the moment feels perfect.

"I don't know. I'm… going with the flow. I know that I want to make the world a better place. I know that I want to stop deforestation from increasing."

"I don't have a doubt that you will." I smile, but only his smile fills the room. He's perfect. This moment is perfect.

"Tell me a film I might have seen you in." I try to distract myself. No one should stare at someone as much as I've stared at Ben tonight.

"I haven't been in many, I prefer theatre. My latest one is Hawking. You may have seen that."

"Oh, my dad was telling me to watch that. It was on the television two nights ago, wasn't it? But I didn't watch it – I was studying."

"Well, I urge you to watch it." He smiles, and the edges of his eyes crease, and I feel like I want to cry. He's imperfectionless.

"It's done. What plays have you been in?"

The conversation continued for what was hours but felt like minutes. More people were leaving, and the waiter came to remove the sheets from the table. My older sister was still dancing, and old, classic songs were played and improvised by the jazz band. The blue lights were still cascading among the walls, and my green dress shimmered in the light. I tugged at it, and peered at the eyes fastened onto my shoes, that stared at me through the gap between my legs.

Ben and me sat eating Werther's Originals for a while longer, talking about childhood, funny jokes, the future, the afterlife and various other topics, until the night was closing in. Ben tapped at the napkin trapped underneath his hand.

He saw my sister finish dancing, and pulled out a blue fountain pen, writing smoothly on the white material.

We stood up, and the tall, slender man placed the ink-stained napkin into my hands. He tilted his head, picked up my cupped hands, and kissed them.

His lips were gentle and soft, and yet they left a burning feeling on my knuckles. I blushed at the cheekbones. To my surprise, so did he. He bowed, and slipped away, whispering "Goodnight" so faintly I could barely hear the notes of his bass voice.

The note read: "W12 EJR. Write to me"

Benedict's POV

Today I woke up and headed to the kitchen to watch television in my dressing gown. I flicked through the channels, finding nothing of interest, but settling for the news. Then I grabbed my journal from the kitchen counter, and smoothed my hand across the leather cover. I opened the string sealing my schedule, and flicked out my blue fountain pen.

Tonight at 10 o'clock I have a charity event. Do I have a suit ready? Yep. Do I need anything else? Nope. Okay, well today is going to be boring.

After getting dressed, I hailed a cab in the direction of Marylebone High Street. Thankfully, the streets are relatively empty – hopefully I won't get much attention.

I walk into Waitrose and buy the regular things: chicken, fish, vegetables, rice, juices etc. and head to Daunt's with a full shopping bag. God, I have too many books. Why do I always feel like I need more?

On the way in, I see a middle-aged woman. Small, freckled, brown-haired. She smiles at me, and I smile back, though I don't think with equal levels of enthusiasm. She recognised me. I greet Greg behind the counter, who is folding cotton bags.

Over in the history section, I sit in an armchair and pick up a random book someone has left behind. 'The Full Guide to The Vietnam War', the title reads. Already read it, I mutter to myself, yet I flip the page anyway.

13 HOURS LATER

I step into the shower and hit my smallest toe on the glass door. Ow, I complain. I run the water through my hair, and I feel the strands curling. Shampoo lathers, water rinses. I relax, my body tension lifts and I don't feel anything. I inhale, I exhale, air flowing through me.

I stare into the mirror and rummage the thick, rough towel amongst my hair. Too many curls, I think to myself. I grab the comb from the side of the sink and comb through the knots I've just created.

Tie… tie… tie… I look everywhere, rummaging around irrelevant drawers and under the bed. A ha! I exclaim. Found it.

Arriving at parties is the worst thing. Every single one of the photographers shouting: "Benedict! Over here, Benedict!" "One more shot!" My smile is hurting my cheeks now. I step inside, thanking bodyguards with a look.

Wow, this is nicer than I expected it to be. People are just settling down for the beginning of the evening, gentlemen opening chairs for others. I greet some directors and friends, and scour the scene for my table. I want to sit down as soon as possible. Yep, that's my table. I see JJ sitting, making people laugh with a story I've already heard.

"Good evening, Ben," JJ stands up to shake my hand. Others greet me in a chorus of "nice to meet you, I'm…"'s or "You're Benedict! I love your work"'s. They don't stand up. I sit, straightening my back as I do so. I delve into conversation, but let JJ continue.

After a while, I get tired of holiday tales or celebrity meetings. I've had dinner, and I want to do something else. I scour the scene again, looking for anything interesting.

I see the regulars: Kate Moss, Elton John, Richard Jones, Tracey Emin… not interesting. I see what could be hilarious dancing, but I'm not amused. In the corner, behind James Corden and Julia Roberts, I see a young woman, twirling and smiling. She wears a green dress, which reflects the light slightly. Her dirty blonde hair swings around her neck, a beautiful, slender sculpture, replicating the rest of her body.

It looks like she's been spinning for a while now, and she starts to fall. I quickly excuse myself, but no one notices. I dash over to the girl, and before I know it my arms have cradled her waist. It feels like a lifetime before she turns her head to see my face. Her eyes widen slightly, and I'm mesmerised.

Her face is beautiful. It fits her. I trace my line of sight across the curves and ridges of her jaw and cheekbones, her eyebrows, her bright green eyes matching her dress, and her full, rose lips. Her eyes dart back and forth across my face, and I can almost see the cogs in her brain spinning.

I can see her struggling to make out words.

"Umm… thanks," her voice, deep but high, unique, radiates to my ears.

"No problem," I try not to seem threatening. There's a long pause.

I do what I do best, outstretching a hand. "Nice to meet you, I'm Ben."

"Ditto, I'm Ayla." I laugh at her shyness. Wow, a unique name to fit an extraordinary girl.

"So want to get off the dancefloor?" I look for a reason to talk to her. "Too many opportunities to trip." Good, fits the context, good.

"Sure," her voices sounds like velvet. I walk her over to my table, now empty. We sit, and I see her glance over at Richard Johnson's wife. Ayla smiles, and her eyes lit up. She's perfect.

I keep the conversation. "So, what are you doing here tonight?"

"I'm here with my sister and her husband." So that's where she gets her looks from. "I guess I'm just eating dinner and trying to fit in and dance." Straightforward.

"Funny. I'm here to do the same."

"So… I've never really seen you before." Her confidence is building. "What do you do?" Surprising. I don't think I've met anyone that doesn't know who I am for a while.

"I'm an actor. What about you?"

"I study. I read books. I play music. I'm working at Penguin right now." Jesus. This girl must be early twenties, mid-twenties at the most. I hadn't got anywhere at her age.

"That's impressive. How old are you?" I look at her dress and into her eyes again. Magical.

"I am sixteen, going on seventeen… no, I'm seventeen. I used to be able to sing that, and I miss it." I laugh at her outburst of song. The Sound Of Music. She must play.

Her lips curl into a smile so pretty it must hurt. My eyes unconsciously dart down to her arms, beautifully shaped. Her collarbone cuts through my eyes, and I realise that looking at her up close is so much more satisfying that from far away. She notices the trail my eyes leave, and begins to blush.

"I hope you don't mind me saying, but you're astonishingly beautiful." Her cheeks deepen in colour, and somehow she's even more mesmerising.

"Thank you… ditto." I laugh at her repetitive phrase. I want to change conversation – obviously she's not comfortable. God Ben, you're so selfish.

"So, what do you want to be when you grow up?" She is grown up you idiot."Oh, why am I even saying that? You've already got the dream job!" She thinks I'm a moronic, invading bastard. Yep, I've ruined it.

She smiles again, and my worries melt away.

Hours later, she looks into her bag for something. Her eyebrows furrow, and her face is still perfect. I don't think I've ever seen someone intimidatingly beautiful. She looks up at me, and thinks for a moment. I wait impatiently, wanting her to talk.

"Werther's?" she sings, handing out a golden-wrapped sweet.

"Who could say no?" Her confidence rises again, and she smiles. Truly smiles. Her eyes light up and she pops the toffee into my hand. Our fingers touch, and I realise how warm my hands are, as her cold, delicate hand briefly skims mine.

Then she laughs. My heart rate elevates, and I thank the gods of fate that we're in a considerably loud party rather than a totally silent room, where she could probably hear it.

After a while, I notice more and more people leaving. A few walk past my chair to greet me, but others leave Ayla and I alone to converse. I glance over at her sister mid-conversation, and she seems tired. I turn back to Ayla, who seems bright and more than awake. She's living. Anyway, that means I'll have little time left with her.

She notices my tapping before I do, her eyes and voice drifting off in the midst of a sentence. I look down at the cotton napkin beneath my clumsy fingers, and my eyes dart back to her sister. Finished dancing. I have just about enough time. Ayla's smile fades. She realises too. I grab my pen from my shirt pocket and scribble on the napkin, writing quickly so I can do it in time.

I place it into her hands as we stand, and I look into her eyes again. She's still not smiling. I lift her hands up to my bowed head, meeting halfway. My burning lips meet the base of her fingers, and I place a long, soft kiss upon them. She blushes, still looking into my eyes and on my face, and I feel my cheeks heating.

I'm embarrassed, so I bow and walk away, still gazing into her eyes as I greet her.

I never wanted this kind of evening to end like this.