Water droplets were dripping down from the edge of the red and yellow colored leaves. It was drizzling already with a breeze patting the skin of every tree nearby. Petrichor made the perfect scent in that small town.
Was it trying to say something? Maybe not.
He shut the book wildly as one or two raindrops found their place on its twenty-fifth page, making sure it didn't vanish the ink. The curved lines which were about to begin a new sentence halted on seeing the immaturity of the intruders. 'Next time' - he whispered under his breath. He had a whole bag packed as if he was running away to some places afar. As he safely placed the book, which was already in his hand in the bag alongside a bunch of other books, the wind was kissing his hair, and raindrops were caressing his cheeks. The evening sky, all willing to change the curtain to something dark with shimmering stars painted a picture. The sun rays found their place sieving through the raindrops, almost from the westside, waiting to set. He would've stayed there for a bit too long unless he wanted himself soaked in rain. The bag was too heavy for him, but he walked as if it was a routine, eyes on the ground, arms across his chest, holding the bag closer ...
The byways were muddier than usual, one or two cabs drove past him, his footsteps became faster, and at times he accidentally tripped on some random stones here and there. Even though at some point it ached a bit, he just let out a sigh with an 'ouch' loud enough for him to slow down and to be careful. The sky quoted six o'clock, he changed his sight to the left side of the way where it echoed
'It's already five, and you still wanna keep the door open?'
A lady in her thirties was shouting at her kids, who looked like ten and twelve ( indeed if his calculation is right ). He looked away when he saw her looking back at him
'Zayn, you are almost drenched, don't you have an umbrella?'
She enquired from within her house. Since he was forced to look back and answer, he shrugged his shoulders and answered a 'no' without a no. Way before she could ask another one, he looked away and continued to walk. The two-block walk to his home seemed longer than usual, and the day seemed as if it already paved the path for the night. He had turned off the road he was walking, and now was winding his way to a more wooded place.
'Mom... Zayn is home' - a girl in her late teens shouted from the top of her voice, she looked as if she was waiting for him for way too long.
'Keep it down Doni' - Zayn hurried into the doorstep. She smiled at him and pat his head, which was half drenched. He kicked his shoes to the side of it, perfectly arranged as if someone placed them properly.
'Go get fresh, it's already too late. By the way, where were you?' She asked.
'I left the school early today...' he didn't complete the sentence.
'And?'
'Where is Mom?' he tried to skip the question and carried with the one in hand.
'You didn't answer me Zayn' - she leaned to the door, arms across her chest, and stared into his eyes, which were wandering in thoughts.
'I'll tell you, but promise me that you won't tell anyone' - he extended his right arm, with palm up. She placed her hand on top of that, steadied
'Promise'.
'Later' - he smiled from the corner of his eyes and walked towards his room.
The home was built with brownstone and was large enough for a six-member family.
YOU ARE READING
ZIAM - I FIGURED IT OUT
FanfictionIt was always under repair - his heart, his aches, his feelings. As Zayn walked down the old lanes covered in moss, he felt himself a petal falling out from the flower, which was always looked after by someone, and that someone was not there anymore...
