I came down with something a few days later, probably contracted whatever Harry had been sick with. There was only two weeks of school left and I was spending them, at home, puking up my lungs. It was absolutely miserable. Honestly, I'd rather be taking notes in math then be stuck like this. After Zayn had left the roses, I had done a lot of thinking. Thinking about what I wanted, who I was becoming. Maybe it would be better if I just went to sleep and never woke up.
Someone knocked on the door, but I felt too bad to get up.
"Who is it?" I managed to yell weakly, resulting in another coughing fit that shook my entire body.
The door opened and I just hoped it wasn't a robber.
"Nicole?"
It was Zayn and my heart fluttered.
"Up here," I called at hardly a whisper.
Zayn ran up the stairs and burst into my room.
When he saw me, he smiled a strange smile that lit up the entire room. I had never seen him beam so vibrantly.
"Hi Nicole," he said, though he sounded sort of nervous.
This was so out of Zayn's usual character I wasn't sure what to think.
I nodded since I was too exhausted to speak.
Zayn sat down next to me on the bed, and stroked my hair.
"Aren't you supposed to be at school?" I asked, followed by more coughing.
Zayn just raised an eyebrow.
"When am I ever at school?"
I tried to smile.
"So how have you been?"
I glared at him. How have I been? How have I been?
"Let me take care of you."
I nodded again. Since both my parents were at work, this seemed like the best option.
Zayn came back thirty minutes later with a steaming bowl of soup, which he spoon fed me, against my will.
"I can feed myself," I argued, though I found lifting my head to be tiresome.
He didn't listen and continued to do it for me.
I was surprised he hadn't brought up the roses yet.
He sat there quietly for awhile and we just stared at each other. I took in Zayn's new found sweetness. He was wearing a red and black striped loose tank top. His jeans weren't even black today, instead he was clad in khaki Capri pants. I almost giggled. He looked so different.
"Come on." Zayn grinned and scooped me up.
"What are you doing?" Zayn's mere presence was giving me strength. It even sounded corny when I said it in my head.
He carried me down into the living room and spun me around in a circle.
"Ow, Zayn, my headache," I whimpered.
"Oh yeah, sorry."
He sat down on the couch and kept me in his arms. Zayn turned on the tv and began watching some crime show that I happened to love.
"Thanks Zayn," I said, looking up at him with all the affection I could muster.
"You know I still love you."
"I know," I sighed.
"And how do you feel about me?"
How could he ask me when I was like this? Why was he doing this to me?
"I-I, uh
