Entangled | Zayn Malik

Chapter Seven

"So are you busy tomorrow?" I ask Zayn while we walk back to school.

He looks up and bites his lip, as if to recall if he has plans. "I'm free." He eventually says.

"Then how about I make you that panini?" I say.

"Sounds like a plan." He smiles.

We arrive at the school just a few minutes before the bell is due to ring to signal lunch is over. We walk up the corridors and stop outside the janitors cupboard.

"So I'll text you my address then?" I say, starting to walk away.

"Sounds good." He says and I nod before turning away from him.

"Oh, wait!" He calls. "You don't have my number." My subconscious mentally facepalms as he says the words. Smooth Kaya, real smooth.

"Well that's helpful." I say, walking back towards him.

"Here." He says, holding his phone out to me. "Put your number in."

I take the phone from his grasp and as I do, our fingers brush together. I immediately look up at him as our fingers touch, to find he's already looking at me.

I snap out of it and type my number in and hand the phone back to him. He gives the number a quick ring - just to give me his number - before placing it back in his pocket.

"There we go." I say. "That should make things easier."

"Well now that you have my number, it should make the whole texting process easier." He says, humour laced in his voice.

"Shut up." I lightly swat his arm and he does this adorable smile, with his tongue resting behind his teeth.

"Tomorrow then." I say.

"Tomorrow then." He says with a smile and a nod.

—

Thank god it's Saturday today. It's been one hell of a week. I've had the Monday blues from Monday all the way through to Friday.

I went to the supermarket last night after work to buy the stuff for the panini I'm making for Zayn. I felt like a housewife holding a dinner party, fretting about what to cook for her guests. Then I forced myself to take a chill pill because I'm making him a panini not a fucking three course michelin star meal.

I didn't see Zayn when I left work - he must've left before me because he wasn't in the janitors cupboard or the staff room.

I still have two hours before he comes over for lunch. I told him to come over around noon to give me a decent amount of time to get ready and get the food sorted.

I take a quick shower and brush my teeth before heading back into my bedroom and taking a seat on the edge of the bed. I dry my hair and shove it up in a bun so that it doesn't get in the way while I'm cooking.

I rub my pomegranate moisturiser all over my body before just lying back on top of my bed. When I come out of the shower I usually just lay about in my towel for like an hour before I actually attempt to get ready, basking in my pomegranate-smelling glory. I don't know why I do it. It's relaxing I guess. Or just pure laziness. I haven't decided which one yet.

I glance at the clock and realise I've only got about half an hour before Zayn arrives. I manage to drag myself up off the bed and I take a seat in front of the mirror to put some makeup on.

I rifle through my underwear drawer and my subconscious gives me a thumbs up when I realise I've picked out a matching bra and pants. I usually mix and match but on the rare occasions I actually wear a set, I feel more confident somehow.

I decide to put on a pair of black skinnies and my tour t-shirt from The 1975 gig. I got it when I saw them live last year and I absolutely love wearing it. I slip on my black ankle boots before standing in front of the mirror to assess my outfit. Black, black and more black. Just the way I like it.

I check the clock again to see that Zayn should be arriving any minute. I walk through to the kitchen and switch the radio on and take out the ingredients I need from the fridge.

I'm excited and also completely nervous to see Zayn. He's so different from anyone I've ever met. He's a closed book. A closed book that I want to open up and read every part of. I'm just so intrigued by him and I feel like there's so much to know. Hopefully today can maybe be the start of cracking the Zayn Malik code.

—

One hour and forty minutes.

He's an hour and forty minutes late and I'm pissed. I've been sitting here like an idiot, just waiting around for him to arrive and he doesn't even have the common courtesy to send me a text?

I pick up my phone and scroll through my contacts till I land on Zayn, and press call.

Six rings in and he finally picks up, but doesn't speak.

"Zayn?"

"K-Kaya?" His voice is quiet and he sounds...pained?

"Zayn? Are you okay?"

"No." He says, his voice cracking.

"What's happened?" I ask.

"I deserved it." He says.

"Deserved what?"

"To be hurt." He whispers and I freeze, my heart dropping down to the pit of my stomach.

"Where are you just now?"

"At home."

"I'm on my way Zayn." I grab my car keys and rush out of the front door.

"I can't move Kaya, it hurts."

"Just stay put. Tell me what hurts?"

"Everything." He says quietly and the line goes dead.

"Zayn? Zayn?!" I take the phone away from my ear and look at the screen to see if he's still there but the call has ended.

What the? Who hurt him? What the hell is going on?

I have far too many questions but I put them to the back of my mind as I quickly get into my car and hope to god that I can remember the way to Zayn's house.