22. A Good Night

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(Isabelle's POV)

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(Isabelle's POV)

I did eventually come out of my room to join him in the living room. After pulling myself together, I realized that it's better to get up and move on rather than sit and feel sorry for myself. The lights are out minus the light from the tv and a small lamp on a side table in the corner of the room.

"You made it." He smiles.

"Yeah... where's your Mom?"

"She's already gone to bed but if you want some dinner, I can heat you up something."

"It's alright, I'm not that hungry." I lie.

"Well, I was just about to heat up something for myself, so why don't I just make extra and you can have some if you'd like to."

"That sounds good. Thank you."

He did heat up the leftovers from dinner and did make me a plate even though I said I was fine. Truth was, eating made me feel a little bit better.

"Tell me... tell me something that you like to do. A hobby or just something that makes you happy." Zayn says as we sit almost in the dark in the living room.

I think for a moment. I haven't done anything hobby-wise in a long time. I can't remember the last time I did something just for the fun of it. But then, something comes to mind — a distant but happy memory.

"I used to like to sing... I would dance around in my bedroom and sing the songs that my mom liked to listen to."

"What's her favourite?"

"Hm... I don't know if she has a favourite. She used to sing 'Your Song' to me, she loves Elton John"

Zayn nods and smiles softly.

All I can think of is my mother sitting on the edge of my bed and softly singing those lyrics to me. It was so comforting — the sound of her voice amongst the silence.

"It's a little bit funny... this feeling inside." Zayn begins to sing softly.

I look up to him, shocked to hear his voice singing to me.

"I'm not one of those who can... easily hide."

His voice, although soft, sounds good. For some reason I hadn't expected that — not after hearing him scream those karaoke songs.

I smile softly to him as some sort of thanks and then softly sang with him. Although my singing skills are poor, it doesn't matter. Singing this softly, to this song, with these memories, made my awful singing skills irrelevant.

Now, looking at Zayn softly singing this song that means so much to me, it's hard not to notice this awful feeling I have inside fade away. It's not the one from recounting my memories but rather the one that came from feeling like a burden.

If I were such a burden, then why would he be here right now? Why would he be sitting here at midnight singing a song that reminded me of happy times?

I can't find any other explanation other than him caring about my well-being just a little. And that idea alone, makes me smile.

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