It All Started with a Tweet [Zayn Malik]

13: The Contact

Unedited and late. Sorry.

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My eyes jolted open on Sunday to an ear splitting sound of a heavy object hitting the floor. Considering it was far too loud to have come from downstairs, I reluctantly pushed myself up, rubbed the sleep from my eyes, elevated my arms above my head and mumbled incoherent curse words as I ridded some of the duvet off my body, preparing for an investigation.

                However, as soon as I poked my head up and surveyed the room for the first time, I realised that the disturbance had originated much closer than expected.

                Georgia eyed my sheepishly, as if seconds earlier she’d been praying that I was a heavy enough sleeper to not be fazed by the sudden turmoil. My eyes travelled down from Georgia’s guilty face, which suggested that I should start worrying, and landed on the floor, revealing my laptop.

                Fortunately, it was secured in its case -- so if any damage had been done from its plummet, it would be minor. But that reassurance couldn’t overpower the anger I felt towards my younger sister.

                “Georgia!” I moaned as I ripped the remaining covers off myself and stepped onto the carpeted floor. I rushed over to the site urgently to survey the damage.

                “I didn’t mean to!” she pleaded, shuffling on the balls of her feet “I just sort of slipped.”

                “Why were you trying to sneak it out anyway? This is my laptop, Georgia. I thought we were clear that it’s off limits to you.” I blurted out as I frantically unzipped the case

                “Dad was using the main computer and I had to check my Club Penguin account. If I don’t feed my puffles, they’ll run away!” she whined

                “How did you expect to get in anyway? You don’t know my password.” I said as I lifted up the lid and clicked the standby button. There appeared to be no cracks, but that didn’t certify that it would turn on. “Come on, come on.” I whispered in ultimate desperation

                “But it would be fairly easy to figure out. I mean, it’s bound to have Zayn in it, right?”

                “Ha! Wrong!” I retorted, although it wasn’t true. My password was in fact, ‘ilovezaynmalik’, and I needed to change it as soon as possible. “Now leave.” I commanded before turning back to my laptop, which thankfully displayed the start screen. I sighed in relief before typing in the aforementioned embarrassing password; cringing slightly as my fingers danced over the keys.

                I absentmindedly logged onto twitter -- just a habit, I guess -- and found two new direct messages. I predicted they would be followers of mine, trying to use me as their route to Zayn, since he still surprisingly followed me.

                The first one was just as expected; a needy girl, begging for me to persuade Zayn to follow her. I’d never fulfilled any of these countless requests, and I guess that’s what separated me from the others. I didn’t ask anything of Zayn through our old online conversations -- merely chatted with him. I sent back a reply, saying that I don’t take requests for that sort of thing, before scrolling down to the next.

                I had to do a double take. If I was in the process of sipping a drink, I would’ve spat it out with no question. Zayn had finally contacted me since the kiss.