I was flipping through the channels on my television as I sat slump on my 200 thousand dollar sofa wondering why I live in Toronto where I could be living in the U.K in Bradford. I live in a small apartment- condo with my parents. No siblings. Thank goodness. I was born in Bradford, England. We moved here when I was 4 years old because my father's boss transferred him here to Canada. I missed England no matter where I lived. It was my birthplace and I left it for Toronto, a business place with a fair amount of crimes happening among our neighborhood. My father always told me to keep an "open mind" about Toronto. Ugh... I've never kept an open mind about anything especially living here in Canada. Anyways, as I was flipping channels, something caught my eye. The Mark Gregory show. He was interviewing One Direction!!!!!!! I yelped when I saw them on the television. My father looked up from reading his newspaper. I awed them on my High definition screen. I focused more on Zayn, Zayn Malik. I loved all of them, but deep inside of me, I adored Zayn Malik the most for some reason. Probably because of those hazel brown eyes which posses every teen girl. I drooled all over the screen as I was fangirling the TV.
Then I heard a mellow chuckle. I turned my head around and saw my dad was the one chuckling.
"What?!' I asked confused.
"Nothing, it's just that you’re closer to Zayn Malik than you think sweetie." he replied back as he threw this newspaper aside.
My eyes were wide open.
"WHAT?!" I shouted.
"Yes, Zayn Malik's family was our family friends." he remarked.
I was shocked after he told me. I started to hyperventilate. It was too much to take in. What the hell, I thought.
"Prove it,” I demanded as I knew he was just pulling my cords.
“Ok then." He said as he got up. He went to the storage room and came back with a flowery box under his arms. I was very curious as to what was in the box.
"What's in the box that has to do with you proving that I personally know Zayn Malik?" I questioned again.
He ignored my question and opened the box. Inside the box were pictures full of a cute little boy and a girl. I was hoping that was me. There was over 100 or so photos in that box. I picked each one and carefully examined them. There was a pic of me, my parents in front of our house in Bradford. Another picture of two girls, a boy and me. I wasn't able to recognize the girls in the picture, but I'm assuming that it can be Zayn's sisters. The boy in the picture was obviously him. He was very cute back then. I grinned when I saw another picture. It was me and Zayn. Zayn looked as if he was about to cry because he had make up all over his face and I was laughing in the background while holding up lipstick, mascara and blush. The last photo which I fished in the box was half ripped. It was a picture of me only. The photo only showed the side of my face as my lips was puckered then there was the tear. That was the missing piece of the puzzle. I was puzzled.
"Dad, How come this one is ripped?" I asked.
There was a solitary moment.
"Well, long story short. We started to hate the Maliks because of an incident which occurred years ago and it had to do with this particular photo." he explained.
It doesn't add up to me but instead I took the photo and kept it in my pocket.
"Are you done looking at these photos?" my dad blurted out. He was getting impatient.
"Huh? Yeah, sure go ahead." I replied back.
I ran up to my room and observed the tear photo. Why is this picture so important? I pondered. What does this picture have to do with hating the Maliks? Yes, at first the Maliks were normal people but after this year, they are known to be the popular family among the celebrity family history. Anyways, I put the picture in my private scrapbook box for safe keepings and also a mystery and the truth to be unleashed.