925 miles | z.m. au

viii.

“Act like you’ve been here before

Smile less and dress up some more”

—The Lumineers

...

Mary always thought she’d know the difference between north and south. Back when she was little, and her soul was a lot more vibrant, her sense of direction was rather impeccable. She figured she’d backpack across Europe with a map and a compass and say she did a proper job of navigating. She wouldn’t just be a traveller; she would be an explorer and—even to this day—exploring the world rather than sprinting through it sounds much more glamorous.

It isn’t really about glamour though, Mary decides as her sandals fill with dirt from the unfamiliar sidewalk. It’s about wearing down the soles of her shoes and scratching her knees against the pavement—it’s about climbing mountains and counting every star in the sky.

And that’s what she’s doing, really, in her own messy and frantic way. She’s following through with the dreams she used to map out on the carpet of her grandma’s living room and that’s an extraordinary thing, right? Of course.

Mary just wishes that she knew what city she was in.

Nonetheless, she’s going to perform at the hole-of-an-establishment she’s arriving at, and she’s going to wear her black dress as the bar-owner suggested. And maybe she’ll do something with her hair because there’s so goddamn much of it and all it does is fall down her back and get in her face when the wind decides to be strong. Perhaps she’ll even do her makeup but what difference will it make, honestly? Her corner will be dark and the dress will be distracting enough as it is.

Mary just sighs as she navigates the messy hallways of the bar, finding a little room and pulling off her jacket—Zayn’s jacket. Perhaps she shouldn’t have taken it. Zayn wore it quite often, after all. But maybe that’s the best part. The thing still sort of smells like Zayn and Mary wonders when she became so attached to his scent. Cigarettes and cologne haunt her and she yearns to breathe it in while being pressed against the bed sheets. She’d like to tangle herself up in those sheets and close her eyes as tightly as she can. Zayn could be there, and he could kiss the protrusions of her spine all he wanted to—Mary liked the feeling of goose bumps, anyway.

But Zayn is not here. It’s just Mary, and isn’t that the way it always works out? Feels like it. But Mary can’t forget what she came out here to do. It isn’t about Zayn or anyone else for that matter, it’s about her—she can’t afford to lose sight of that. And fuck, it was only a few weeks in the desert. She’s forgotten childhood memories with her best friends and long years spent exploring the playground—she’s sure she can forget this, too.

So, rather than focusing on the warmth and scent of Zayn’s jacket, Mary focuses on settling into the black dress. It’s a little tight and it’s rather uncomfortable, but the owner of the bar has offered to pay her more than she usually makes in these dingy establishments, so she’s going to suck it up. She brushes her hair and skips the makeup and hopes that she’s everything these people are expecting. She hopes for smiles because, really, that’s all she ever wanted. Her grandma always told her she was put on this planet to move mountains—but making people smile is just as important.

Zayn’s smile was the first thing that caught her attention. Through the smoke and grime of the air, she found his sweet little smile, and it was all for her. And perhaps she captured what was hers and found a place for it in the deepest cavern of her heart, because she has yet to forget about it. Even after Zayn sent a billion smiles in her direction, she never forgot the first...and she supposes she never will.