Under Summer Sky • Zarry

33. History

One year later

"Cowabunga dude!" Low exclaimed as her tiny frame leapt off the ground. 

She jumped right into the cool, sparkling water of Gio's swimming pool in her green and white polka dotted one piece swim suit along with her ninja turtle arm floats. Immediately, Harlow created a splash that was directed towards Zayn, who had been casually sitting on the pool side with his ripped blue jeans rolled up to his knees, revealing his tattoo-filled legs, his feet dangling idly into the water swaying gently back and forth. 

"Oops!" she giggled impishly, now grinning. 

Low put on a mischievous face as she swam over towards me, kicking her growing legs in a purposely obnoxious manner, while tiny droplets of water continued to splatter over at Zayn and he flashed her a playful glare. 

"Uncle Harry," my niece whined. "Why doesn't Zee ever come swimming with us?" 

"Because he's scared," Stella toyed back.

At nearly five years old, Zayn's god daughter piped right into the conversation from her donut shaped pool float, her body half way submerged within the center of it, holding on tight with her over-sized white heart shaped sunglasses perched on her button nose, and a cherry red flavored lollipop in one hand.

"Hey! I'm not scared," Zayn retaliated with eyes cast downward, half lying to himself; he narrowed his brows at his god daughter, mouth agape in mock offense. "I just don't care for water. I'd rather watch you little fishes swim around from right here where it's nice and dry." 

The girls loved teasing Zayn the absolute most, and it was becoming their favorite hobby, actually. I found it to be amusing. 

Still, in the most traditional manner after all these years that I knew Zayn, he had never once gone swimming. Zayn never dipped into his own pool, never waded out in the ocean, not even standing in the shallow end of any body of water. There we were, rising upon our mid twenties, and Zayn still hadn't budged on learning how to swim yet; and he didn't want to. 

But that was the thing about Zayn. He was stubborn and only changed on his terms. And amongst his tough, dominant exterior that he put on, acting as if he was in charge, in control, completely fearless with the strength of thousand suns above him, which continued on to exist in several forms, there was the same little boy he always was ever present. 

You know the one; a little bit anxious, sometimes timid and sensitive, more emotional than anyone ever knew — just a beautiful combination of all the things that I had fallen in love with — and very much loved and cherished, just as I always did and always would. 

I continued to accept Zayn exactly for who he was.

But it was going to end up being me, the one who did the things he didn't care to do, the one who spent the summer days swimming in the pool along with the girls, and on this hot summer afternoon in early July. 

We had our roles.

Gemma and Adrienne weren't around but instead were off getting pedicures together for a girl's day they decided on last minute. They deserved it. Likewise, Marco was off having his own boy's day trip, gone out fishing by the coast along with Gio and Jeff during our family vacation up in Tuscany, which became a tradition of ours, and we had all decided to make a yearly event.

The only people missing were my Mum and her boyfriend, Christopher, who were planning on flying in later that evening.  

"Ooooookay," Harlow drawled out dramatically.

She was now glancing over at Zayn with another infectious, curious grin on her face. "But what if Harry drowns, Zaynie!? He has no floaties on! And there's no life guard to save him and I'm just a kid!"