Heartstrings ➳ z.m.

thirty - skylar

Chapter Thirty – Skylar

            “You two need to get married already,” Niall snorted, and I looked at his fingers that were laced with Trinity’s.

            “You’re one to talk, Horan.”

            Zayn laughed beneath me, chest rumbling against my back, and Harry let out a snort.

            “You four need a double wedding.”

            “I’m waiting on this one to propose first,” I laughed back lightly, motioning toward Zayn, whose lap I was currently sitting on.

            He kissed my head, resting his chin on my shoulder. “Someday.”

            “I’m sure.”

            I was only teasing him, and he hummed along, nodding.

            I honestly wished that this someday would come soon.

            I had learned a lot from Zayn, as crazy as it sounds, and through this long, twisted journey I had fallen—no, skyrocketed—in the truest, purest love that there was.

            I don’t know what I was thinking when I decided that I wanted to figure Zayn out. It wasn’t like he was a puzzle, or a Rubik’s cube, or anything like that.

            Something about him had instantly drawn me to him.

            Back then, I would’ve said that it was probably my psychology lessons finally starting to become useful, but now I know that it was a little something called fate.

            And for that I would be eternally grateful.

            “What are you thinking about?” Zayn mumbled, fingers dusting along my shoulders. He placed a gentle kiss on the back of my neck.

            “Nothing; everything,” I replied, turning so that he could see the smirk placed upon my lips. “The usual.”

            There were times where I wondered where I’d be if Louis hadn’t stopped in that day, or if I had been busy doing something and Michael had taken the order instead.

            Would I still be here, now, in the arms of the one that I had fallen hopelessly in love with?

            “You think too much,” he murmured, breath ghosting over my lips. His lashes fluttered against my neck as he pressed a sweet kiss on my shoulder, and then my collarbone.

            “Are you trying to seduce her right in front of us?” Louis chuckled, running a hand through his hair, “because that’s what you have a room for.”

            “I’m trying to be in love here,” Zayn replied, laughing. He stood up from the couch anyway, locking my hand in his and dragging me down the hall.

            When we were safely tucked in his room with the door shut behind us, he tucked a hair behind my ear, grinning. “I actually have something to show you. I had decided to do something with the week and a half that I didn’t get to see you.”

            Whatever it was, it must’ve been exciting because I could feel the excitement rolling off of him in waves. “Let’s see it then.”

            “Close your eyes.”

            I did, leaning against the door as he rustled around his room.

            “Okay, I’m ready.”

            I opened my eyes, glancing around before I finally realized what he was showing me.

            His sketchbook.

            There, on the page, neatly drawn, was a girl that really closely resembled me. She was smiling—a real smile, one of those that crinkled her eyes—and she looked genuinely happy. Her hair was down and pooling around her shoulders, and the drawing was really beautiful overall.

            But that wasn’t the thing that really caught my attention.

            It was the eyes.

            Instead of the black-and-white sketching that was usually present on Zayn’s drawings, this one had beautiful, breathtaking flecks of cyan and blue exploding from the pupils.

            And I couldn’t help but feel as if a page had been turned.

            This was Zayn’s book; he was the author, and he had been stuck on one chapter of his life for a while.

            And maybe he would’ve been stuck on that chapter forever; maybe he would’ve read and reread that final sentence over and over again until the blurred edges faded into dust.

            “Beautiful,” I whispered, and maybe I was crying, or maybe I was just smiling too hard; I don’t know.

            Zayn seemed to know that I wasn’t talking about the drawing at all—that I was talking about him, and his life, and how he had used a semicolon instead of a period now because his sentence didn’t stop.

            His book wasn’t just empty text anymore.

            It was life, and love, and happiness, and all that fell in between.

            And everything was color.

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This was the final chapter; there will be an epilogue. I'm really happy and sad to have finished this story x