January. // z.m. au

Chapter 4

Shooting The Moon | Ok Go

I couldn't say that Zayn didn't have my full attention because he very much did. In fact, he had all of me, every part of me listening, waiting to see what was next to spill from his lips. He was like a play and I was his audience―he had me wanting to know more like he was a chapter in a mystery novel. I wanted to finish the book.

I listened intently as he told me more about himself; the facts of his life flooding my brain like a hurricane. He was so interesting, so real, I found myself leaning in closer to him as if he were telling me a secret that he didn't want anyone else but me to hear.

My eyes fell on his lips―his words rolled off his tongue like smoke crawling from a cigarette. He was like a poem with legs, everything about him told a story.

"Enough about me," he shrugged. He leaned back into his chair (we'd moved from the stools to a table closer to the back of the coffee shop), tattooed covered arms resting on the top of his seat. "What about you are you willing to tell me?"

I smirked, mimicking his posture in a more ladylike way. "Depends on what you want to know." I challenged.

"Hmm," he thought, rubbing his chin. "What's your favorite color?"

"Starting off easy I see?"

"We'll get to the harder questions later."

I swear I almost flew out of my chair when he sent a wink my way. This boy was something else.

"Okay. Green. Like a minty, pastel green."

"A minty, pastel green? So intricate."

"No, just very specific."

He nodded before shooting me another question. "How old are you?"

"How old are you?" I retorted.

"I asked first," he insisted. His eyes squinted into playful slits as he leaned his elbows onto the table in front of us.

"Haven't you heard? You never ask a lady her age."

"If I tell you mine will you tell me yours?"

"Fine," I quickly responded.

"Twenty-one," he announced.

"Congratulations, you are legal to drink in America."

"Don't tell me I'll have to wait up for you?" he joked, eyebrows raising. The smile he wore on his face pleased me so much.

"I'm afraid so," I pouted. "I'm only twenty."

"When's your birthday?" he questioned.

"February eighth. How 'bout you?"

"January twelfth. I hate it."

A short chuckle left his mouth and I looked at him with curious, green eyes.

"I wanted to be a summer baby so bad when I was a kid. I didn't know why, everything just seemed better in the summer to me. I also hated having to go to school on the day I was born."

I started to giggle just picturing a young Zayn agitated in his little classroom because it was his birthday and he couldn't have a day off.

"That's cute," I giggled.

"Can't say I wasn't," he smirked.

I knew right then that I liked Zayn as a person. So far, he was funny and really nice. I was so glad I got the chance to meet him last night that I found myself silently praising myself for going to the club.

"Longest relationship?" Zayn asked randomly. I don't know why but I was taken back. I wasn't expecting such a straightforward, personal question.

"Um," I started. I furrowed my eyebrows, wondering if I should even answer. "I was eighteen. It lasted about eight months."

"Nineteen," he said. "Lasted six months."

I wasn't sure why, but I felt a sense of accomplishment. Maybe it was because Zayn beat me in the age category, so I had to outdo him in this.

"If you think about it," he continued, "it's not really a long time, you know? Only half a year. I couldn't even make it past the twelve month mark."

I felt a sudden sense of sadness or even a sense of failure wash over Zayn. I really wanted to ask about how he was feeling or what he was thinking, but I didn't want to intrude his life. I barely met the guy. If he really wanted to tell me, I'd let him decide that on his own.

"But I guess everything happens for a reason, right?" he smiled.

"I couldn't agree with you more."

And so there we sat, Zayn and I, continuing our conversation on the subject of karma and believing in miracles and faith and what not. I guess you could say Zayn was a talker. In fact, he truly knew what he was saying. Every word that left his mouth had a different meaning to it; his words held a certain depth to them.

Zayn was a deep yet mysterious guy and, if I was being completely honest with myself, I quite liked it. Each and every single thing about him.