in the hills • zayn malik

eleven- family

She fell silent. “You don’t have to tell me.” He said softly, tightening his hold on her slightly.

“He had kept one car. He hadn’t used it since I was born, but he demanded that I help him get to the car. I never had disobeyed his orders, and helped him into the driver’s seat.”

“He said to me, ‘Iris, I need to go to the hospital. I’ll be back as soon as I can, alright? Don’t worry, everything will be well. I love you.’ I whispered my own ‘I love you too’ as he drove away, and to this day I have not seen my father again.”

“I wasn’t much of a crier, but two months after he left, I realised he wasn’t going to come back. I assumed the worst, and started to cry, on the porch out front. From that day, I have not cried, and will not cry.”

Zayn felt tears well up in his own eyes, though didn’t let them fall. He understood her coldness now. She thought that Zayn would leave her, like her father did.

“I pray that he comes back every day.” Iris mumbled. “And yet every day my prayers go unanswered.”

“He’ll come back one day, don’t worry.” Zayn said, gently running a hand through her hair, wondering if this was breaking every rule of their friendship (not that he minded).

“Maybe.” She said quietly, looking away from him. “But then you came, and I could never look at anything the same again. You... you helped me, Zayn. I remembered what it was like to be happy again.”

A single tear slid down Zayn’s cheek, and he hurriedly wiped it away, before Iris could see. He stopped caressing her hair, and looked at the ceiling, feeling so confused.

He wasn’t supposed to be this close to her. Any day a car could come by and he’d be gone, he’d never see her again.

Zayn suddenly felt guilty: he’d like to think that he would be able to keep the promises that he made her, but they were all empty, no matter how much he wished they weren’t. How could he say those things to her?

Iris suddenly stood up, and gave him a smile. “You kind of remind me of my father.”

A lump formed in Zayn’s throat. “Really?”

She nodded, the smile still present. “You both have that weird sense of humour.”

He managed a small smile. “What was his name?”

Iris looked down at her feet. “Liam Larson.”

A chill went through him, and it all clicked into place: why she had looked so sad when she had asked about Liam, why she left him to last. He gulped and looked away too.

“Can I see your car?”

Zayn looked back towards her, and saw that she was looking at him curiously. “Are you being serious?”

She frowned. “Of course I am.”

Of course she is, Zayn thought, and despite himself began to smile. “Well, let’s go.”

•

“Zayn, what are we?”

“What do you mean?”

“I... I’ve never done this before. Are we more than acquaintances?”

“Well, if you want to be.”

“So we are... friends?”

“I’d like to be.”

“Me too.”