the witch next door [zarry] ✔️

ix

"Zain Malik!"

Zain startled slightly and turns around at the demanding tone in Mrs Jenkins's voice, holding back a grimace when she hurries to catch up with him, her bag swinging wildly.

"Martha saw you with the witch the day before last! And my Steven said you've been cutting wood at the cottage!" She starts straight away, pointing an accusing finger. "Have we not warned you! You ought to stay away from witches. He will enthral you, if he hasn't already, and then where will your poor mother be?"

"Why would be enthral me? What's the use?" Zain asks. It wasn't like he was rich or powerful or anything that would make it worthwhile and Harry didn't really seem the kind in the first place.

"You're such a handsome boy," Mrs Jenkins sighs, shaking her head slightly. "Witches are shallow, dear. He won't do you good."

"He's been nice," Zain defends him, adjusting the grocery bag. He should set it down, but that would feel like admitting defeat and reigning himself go staying with Mrs Jenkins for an indefinite amount of time.

"Nice!" Mrs Jenkins exclaims. "There are no nice witches! Haven't you listened to anything we've been saying?"

"Surely that's not true," Zain frowns.

"Are you calling me a liar, young man?"

Zain wants to roll his eyes. "No," he answers, trying for a placating tone. "Just. They do a lot of good as well, don't they. With their potions and all."

"They could just as well poison you," Mrs Jenkins grumbles.

"Well, I'm not your mother," she adds in the tone of voice that meant she was definitely telling his mother. Never mind that he was well into adulthood by now. Nothing made you constantly feel like the seven year old caught stealing the plums from Mr Kapur's backyard as living in the village you grew up in does.

"Zain," she adds, patting his shoulder. "I know you've been to the city, but don't believe everything these city people say. You gotta be careful of witches. And you're such a sweet and handsome boy, love, you gotta be extra careful. Stay say from the witch!"

"I'll be careful," Zain says, mostly so she's let him leave, finally. He adjusts the bag again, his hand going numb.

He'd promised Safaa he'd be quick, and then he'd gotten caught up talking to Jaffar at the grocer's. Mrs Jenkins was probably punishment for not rushing home.

"You do that," she says. "We'll keep an eye on you," she adds ominously, like that's a reassuring thing.

"Cool," Zain says drily. "I've gotta get home, now, Mrs Jenkins. Safaa is alone and I said I'd be quick."

"Oh yes, hurry home," she says, like it is his fault she started lecturing him in the middle of the street. "And tell her to stay away from the witch. She used to pretend to be one, you know, when she was little. Your father always thought it was adorable, he let you get away with everything, didn't he, God rest his soul. But she should know that witches are no joking matter."

"I know," Zain hurries to say, the knot in his throat tightening. "I should go home. Bye, Mrs Jenskins."

He starts walking away before she can start on another topic, again, changing the bag to his other hand and swallowing around the lump in his throat. It's been years and most of the time he's fine, but sometimes the memories come and it makes him choke, remembering how Safaa used to chase their father around and pretend to turn him into a frog, shrieking with glee and him laughing loudly.

"Why are you sad?"

Zain startles, looking up to meet the witch's eyes.

"What?"

"Why are you sad?" the witch asks, tilting his head. He's wearing a colourful scarf wrapped around his head today, possibly to keep his hair out of his face, possibly to simply look ridiculous, and his eyes seem to shine.

"Just. Memories," Zain says because he can't quite deny he's sad when he's sure it's written all over his face. "All good. You going into town?" He asks, trying to put the focus off him.

"Yep," the witch says, popping the plosive sound. He takes a step closer and still watches Zain with his weird green eyes, like Zain was particularly interesting. "My garden doesn't give me what I need just yet," he says, like that's a normal statement to make.

"Yea," Zain agrees, watching the witch's tongue poke out at the side of his mouth. "Try and avoid Mrs Jenkins. She's already caught me today," he adds, to be neighbourly, and maybe also to spare Harry the pain of being old off for existing.

"You're sweet," Harry beams. "But she thinks I'm gonna steal her husband so she avoids me," he shrugs, wrinkling his nose. "Not sure what I'd do with him of all people," he adds thoughtfully. "Wouldn't be very useful, too much bitterness in him, you know?"

"Err," Zain says, staring a bit.

Harry's eyes are still sparkling, but Zain isn't quite sure if he's joking. The frown on his forehead and the way his mouth isn't quite pulled into a smirk make Zain think that he isn't joking. Not quite.

"Oh well," Harry sighs, like it's not worth pursuing the thought. "I'd better be off. I'll rain in an hour and I don't wanna get wet."

Zain's eyes automatically go up towards the sky, where there were a few clouds but nothing that would scream rain.

He startled when he feels the witch's lips on his cheek, soft and warm and lingering just for a moment. "Don't let the memories get you down, Zain," he whispers like it's a secret.

He's already a good way away when Zain manages to rip himself out of his stupor, turning around to watch him walk away.

He's very sure Harry bewitched him this time, because his stomach is fluttering and his heart is beating way too quickly, but most of all, the ache in his chest is gone and he can remember his father's laughter without tears welling up behind his eyes.

🌿

I made myself cry writing this you're welcome