After Midnight

chapter two.

2 - ZAYN

She is captivating. 

There's nothing special-looking about her. She is a normal girl. In fact, she's in sweats and no makeup with her beautiful chestnut hair tied into a messy ponytail.

I wonder if she's even aware of how effortlessly beautiful she is. Probably not. Most women aren't.

I knew as soon as I saw this fucking angel in disguise, sat at my favorite table, by the way, that I had to talk to her. So I did. It wasn't really something I thought about. I went up and spoke to her, and her voice is just as captivating as her imperfect face. 

I had to hold back a laugh at the relief on her face after telling her I wasn't a cop. The momentary worry in her eyes was precious.

"What do you have so far?" I ask, holding eye contact with her matching chestnut irises. I always found brown eyes captivating. She is captivating.

"Um," she scratched her head, looking at her journal. "You can read them." Oh, right. Her journal is in my hands already.

I read her words, not missing her textbook-neat handwriting.

Learn how to skateboard

Star-gaze

Skinnydip in the ocean

Go to a random concert

She'd stopped with four, clearly starting this plan tonight. Skinnydip in the ocean, huh? Interesting. She strikes me as pure, innocent even.

"They don't have to be in order. I'm just writing what- um, comes to mind, you know?" I could tell she was shy. She kept diverting her eyes as if mine were too intense to stare into. She never stuttered, but she kept rambling and throwing random "um's" and "ah's" into her sentences, a nervous habit, I assume.

I smile at her, trying my best to ease her nerves. "Mind if I throw some ideas on the page?"

"Well, how's your handwriting?" She asks, serious as ever. I can't help but laugh a bit. Cute.

"I have great handwriting, I assure you." I write down the number five and the first activity that pops into my mind to make my point.

       5. Dance in the rain

I could see her eyes follow my hand as I wrote, my handwriting much thicker and darker than her own. Neat, nonetheless.

"You like the rain?" She questions, glancing at her journal.

"Love," I respond.

She smiles at me now, the most beautiful fucking smile I've ever seen. "Me too."

I don't know what pulled me to sit at this damn table. I could've just got my coffee and sat in the other corner, but fuck. I felt like her energy pulled me here. Like I couldn't resist.

As I said, she's so damn intriguing.

I want to know everything about her. I want to know what makes her sit in this cafe at nearly one in the morning. I know why I'm here, but why is she?

"Why don't we list as many things as we can think of, and then each night we can pick whichever one we feel like doing." She suggests, gently pulling her journal from me.

I look at her, amazed that somehow, my avoidance of the sleepless nights led me here.

"Or, I mean, if you're totally regretting this-um, feel free to ignore me, haha." She nervously rambles, a product of my lack of response.