Life after Payne

Chapter 4

Right after talking to Louis over the phone, I decided to take a walk. According to Louis, One Direction management did not advise us yet to release our own statements which Louis and I find absurd since as far as we can remember we're no longer under them.

What a bunch of fuckers, our brother died and we cant say anything for now.. I thought.

The air hung heavy with silence as I stepped outside, the sky a dull gray, mirroring the weight in my heart. Each footfall felt like a reminder of loss, the crunch of gravel beneath my shoes echoing in the stillness.

I wandered down the familiar path, but everything felt altered—trees stood bare, their branches like skeletal hands reaching for something lost.

The chill of the wind cut through me, a stark contrast to the warmth of memories that seemed to linger just out of reach.

I passed the old oak, its leaves now a carpet of brown, and I could almost hear whispers of laughter that once filled the air. The world felt muted, colors faded, as if the vibrancy had been drained away, leaving only shadows of what once was.

With each step, I fought against the tide of grief, searching for solace in the surroundings that now felt foreign. I inhaled deeply, the scent of damp earth mingling with the hint of smoke from distant chimneys, grounding me in the moment, yet reminding me of the emptiness that had settled in my chest. The sky threatened rain, and I welcomed the thought—maybe the heavens would weep alongside me, washing away the heaviness of this walk.

Memories of the boyband flooded back like a cherished playlist, each note evoking a moment frozen in time. I could see us gathered in a friend's living room, posters plastered on the walls, our voices harmonizing with their songs, laughter spilling over as we attempted to choreograph dance moves. The thrill of anticipation before concerts was electric, every detail vivid—the craziness on the stage, the buzz of excitement in the air, and the feeling of unity among fans, all singing in unison.

If I could only go back... then none of this would have happened.

Suddenly the sound of clicking shutters shattered the moment. A paparazzi appeared from nowhere, camera aimed directly at me, capturing the surprise etched on my face.

Instinctively, I froze, heart racing. Flashes burst like firecrackers, illuminating the scene and momentarily blinding me. I glanced around, bewildered—was this really happening? I quickly adjusted my expression.

"Hey Zayn, Just a few shots! Have you heard the news? How are you holding up?" the photographer called, his enthusiasm unrelenting. The chaos of the city around me faded into a blur, the voices of passersby drowned out by the sound of the camera shutter. I felt exposed, like a deer caught in headlights, uncertain whether to stand my ground or escape the spotlight.

For a heartbeat, I considered my next move. The flashes continued, relentless and intrusive. I took a deep breath, hoping to regain some composure, before turning slightly away, and walked towarda the nearest pub.

As I pushed open the heavy wooden door of the pub, a warm rush of air enveloped me, carrying the comforting scent of aged wood, hops, and something savory simmering in the kitchen. The low hum of chatter filled the space, punctuated by the occasional clink of glasses and the laughter of friends gathered around tables.

Dim lighting cast a cozy glow over the worn wooden beams and mismatched furniture, each piece holding its own story. I took a moment to soak it all in, feeling the atmosphere wrap around me like a familiar blanket.

The bar stretched along one side, a polished expanse lined with an array of bottles reflecting the flickering light. Regulars leaned against the counter, engaging in animated conversations, while others nestled in booths, sharing tales over pints.