Three (Zayn Malik)

Three

 Zayn is a prince, though not in power,

Who spends his days in the local market for hours.

There is a girl he has completely fallen for;

Whose beauty and kind heart he simply adores.

But there is a problem he could not avoid,

For their love, before it starts, may be destroyed;

Zayn's mother strictly believes in following tradition,

Yet Zayn is, with this girl, is completely smitten.

He might not know her name, but that won't stop him

For he will do whatever to raise the chances from being so slim. . .

~.~

I had seen her there, walking around the market. She had the same routine: apples, oranges, jewelry, then pet the stray dog at the corner of Robin Avenue and Maker Manor.

To say I was in love was an understatement; she was perfect.

She had that hair that flowed like silk down her back, big brown eyes that, even though it is cliche and overused, looked like chocolate. Her smile shone brighter than the jewels in the room back at the palace.

Whenever I had gotten away from Mother, I would sneak out to the market just to see her.

Her.

I didn't even know her name, but I knew it had to be as lovely as how she looked. 

I must have been staring for too long as Louis, my royal advisor and best friend, nudged me.

"Zayn, just go up to her," he begged. "I am sick and tired of you sitting here with your tongue hanging out, staring at her like she's a goddess. You're a prince; you can definitely get her, so go do it!"

Louis had a point.

"You're right," I said more to myself than to Louis. "You're right," I repeated louder. "I'm gonna go talk to her!" I began to march over until I realized how unprepared and socially impaired I was with humans. 

"I can't do this," I turned right back around. "Let's just go home."

"Weak," Louis said, disappointment clear in his voice, walking back home with me. He sighed. "Zayn, bro, you gotta just go for it."

"Yeah, but my mother," I reminded him.

"You're scared of your mother? She's literally five feet of tradition, Zayn, you could so take her," Louis encouraged.

"Louis, I am not beating up my mother nor any other women," I replied, rolling my eyes at his statement

"No! That's not what I meant." Louis stopped me, turning to face me. "Zayn, I know she wants to pick out your wife with tradition, but you're six feet of the modern world. As your royal advisor, I advise that you just talk to her about it."

I shook my head and continued walking. "Do you think I haven't already tried that? She dismissed it, talking about the "immoral" and "out of control" world that we live it." Kicking a rock on the dirt road, I sighed.

Louis didn't say anything after that, just walked with me. 

My mother, I loved her, but she was difficult. Her heart was with the old ways, and she was known to follow her heart. So was I, and I was allowed to, unless it broke tradition.

If she knew I go to the market in plebeian garbs so often, I would be grounded until the morning of my wedding.

If she knew I was secretly in love with a peasant girl who didn't even know my name, she would lock me in a room, then cry to me about how much I was breaking her fragile, aging heart.