Destacar Lover | Zarry

Chapter : 11

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I stirred from my restless sleep, feeling a strange weight on my leg. Annoyed, I attempted to shake it off, only to startle when I heard a loud thump and a groan. 

My eyes shot open, and I quickly sat up, only to find Harry leaning on the coffee table, clutching his forehead in pain.

"Shit, Harry! Are you okay?" I exclaimed, concern flooding my voice as I hurriedly removed the blanket.

Harry winced, rubbing his forehead.

"Yeah, I'm okay. I just hope it doesn't leave a bruise."

Kneeling in front of him, I examined his forehead and gently traced the area with my thumb. "Seems alright, no bruise for now."

He pouted playfully, "But it still hurts. Kiss it to make it better?"

A pang of pain shot through me as I remembered the heartache from the previous night when I had cried myself to sleep, grappling with the reality of our forgotten anniversary. 

I stepped back, unable to carry out the act, feeling the weight of pain in my heart.

Harry noticed the change in my demeanor and confusion flickered across his face. 

"Zayn, what's wrong?"

I struggled to find the words, my emotions too raw to explain. "It's... nothing, Harry. Just a lot on my mind."

He sighed, looking at me intently. "We can talk about it."

I wanted to open up, to tell him about the hurt, but the words caught in my throat. Instead, I managed a weak smile, attempting to reassure him. 

"I know, Harry. Let's just... let's get you some ice for that bump."

I turned away, hoping to hide the pain, but feeling a longing for the reassurance I needed.

I went about getting the ice and preparing coffee, trying to maintain my composure despite the storm of emotions raging inside of me.

Harry's words floated through the air, an attempt to bridge the gap between us, but my heart was guarded, protecting me from the pain.

"Baby, I know you're angry with me." Harry spoke, his voice laced with regret and longing for understanding.

I stayed silent, focusing on the task at hand. Placing the ice-cloth on Harry's palm, I muttered, "Rub it on your forehead."

Frustration crept into his voice as he tossed the washcloth on the counter. "Stop ignoring me. Can you please listen?"

I let out a sigh, leaning against the kitchen counter, folding my arms.

My voice was cold and detached. "What do you want to say? Tell me."

His eyes were a kaleidoscope of emotions, but I held my ground. I observed the traces of pain and exhaustion etched on his face. His red-rimmed eyes bearing witness to a sleepless night.