Whisper of Fate: A Quiet Love Story

Chapter 8: Silent Battles.

Song for the chapter: Long Live A$AP by A$AP Rocky

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Zayn's Pov

Another day, another pointless routine. I don't know why I even bother trying to play this game. I've never been one for rules. Following the straight and narrow? It's never suited me. But I've been here before—staring at the edge, waiting for the ground to slip from under me. That's why I'm driving down to meet my probation officer today, knowing damn well this whole thing could go south if I push my luck any further. Violated probation again.

The car hums beneath me as I drive, the Chicago skyline passing by in a blur. My mind's quieter than usual, which is saying something. I'm good with silence.

When I finally pull up to the drab office building, I park and drag myself inside, not in any rush. My probation officer, Mr. Baker, is already waiting for me, sitting behind his desk with that same look he always has—half-pissed, half-worried. Like he's one foot out the door, about to give up on me.

"Zayn, you're late," he says without even looking up from the folder in front of him.

I drop into the chair across from his desk, not bothering to respond. No point in making excuses.

Mr. Baker looks up then, his eyes narrowing. "You can't keep doing this. Violating probation might not seem like a big deal to you, but you're walking on thin ice, son. Another slip-up, and you're right back where you started—in jail."

I stare at him, expression blank. Nothing new here. I've heard this lecture before. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk, trying to get through to me, but I'm not sure why he bothers. I tune out most of what he's saying, my mind drifting.

"You understand this isn't a game, right?" His voice cuts through. "You can't just keep skating by. One more violation and you won't have the luxury of these meetings anymore. It'll be prison bars instead."

I nod, just to show I'm listening, even though I'm not sure if I care. He keeps talking, throwing out warnings and advice like it'll somehow click in my head. But I've been through this rodeo before, and nothing's changed. When he's finally done, I stand up, not saying a word. I'm not one for goodbyes or pleasantries.

As I head out, he sighs. "Zayn, think about it. You're not invincible."

I don't answer. The door clicks shut behind me, and I'm out. The fresh air hits me, and I take a deep breath, glad to be away from that office. Climbing back into my car, I check my phone. A text from Samuel lights up the screen.

Samuel:
Hey, could you help my daughter June move some
boxes into her new apartment? She just move here. Would mean a lot.
S.

Samuel's been there for me, no question about it. After I got out of jail, he was the only one who gave me a second chance. Took me in, gave me a job at his tattoo shop, and never judged me for my past. I owe him everything.

I tap out a quick response.

Zayn:
Ok, send me the details.

I toss my phone onto the passenger seat and drive home. With Samuel, I try not to be a "dick," as Chanel would say. He's one of the few people I actually respect. The drive is silent, no music, just the hum of the engine. I like it better that way.

When I finally get home, I step inside and immediately catch the heavy scent of weed. Figures. Rocky's on the couch, as usual, a blunt between his fingers and some F1 documentary playing on the TV. He glances over at me with a smirk.

"If it isn't Mr. Trouble himself," Rocky says, leaning back, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

I don't respond. Instead, I walk over, grab the blunt from his hand, and take a long hit. We sit in silence, passing it back and forth, while he watches the documentary and explains every damn scene to me. Rocky's obsessed with cars, but I've never cared much. Still, I let him talk. I prefer listening over talking anyway.

My phone buzzes again. This time, it's Samuel with the details about June. I glance at the message, send a thumbs-up emoji in reply, and pocket my phone. Rocky's still caught up in the documentary, so I stand up and head to the bathroom for a shower.

The hot water hits my skin, washing away the day, but my mind keeps wandering. I think about that girl I met at the bakery the other day. Then I saw her again at the club. Weird how she just sat down and started talking to me like it was nothing. Most people don't approach me. Most people know better. I wonder what her deal is. What kind of person just talks to strangers like that?

Not wanting to get sucked into overthinking, I finish my shower, throw on some sweats, and order food for me and Rocky. My stomach growls, but I'm too tired to care.

Later, Chanel shows up at the door. I open it, not saying a word as she steps inside.

"Well, hello to you too, asshole," she says with a grin.

I just nod and walk back to the kitchen. After a few hours of hanging out, Chanel and Rocky are passed out on the couch. I head up to my room, brush my teeth, and try to sleep, but it's no use. My mind's restless. Always has been.

After tossing and turning for what feels like hours, I give up. I grab a blunt, head out to the balcony, and light it up, inhaling the smoke slowly. It calms me down, just a little. I exhale, staring out into the quiet night, the city lights flickering in the distance.

Once I'm done, I put out the blunt, pop a couple of sleeping pills, and hope they'll knock me out. Eventually, I feel my body start to give in, the exhaustion finally winning.

Maybe tomorrow will be different. Maybe it won't. Either way, I'll deal with it like I always do—quietly.

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My first time writing male pov. I did not know what to write. For me male characters just exist, with no depth. But I try to not do that.

Maybe I'll write another Chapter later.

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