Nobody Knows - A Zayn Malik Fanfiction

Chapter Seven (Fern)

Chapter Seven

---A couple hours later---

Aurora’s POV

As I slip into my baggy grey sweats and tattered nighttime tee, I sigh. Why did things have to be so complicated? First, my not speaking. Second, Ella… and Third, I now have feelings for the one and only Zayn Malik.

            Who doesn’t?

 

I shouldn’t. Not now. Not ever. He’s off-limits, as said before, and honestly, he’s probably not even interested in me. Who am I to him? A girl he can rant to, who he likes to make feel good when he has nothing else to do.

            A nobody.

As I swallow my pride and let my blankets devour me, I breathe quietly, trying to ‘count sheep.’ Wait—since when have I ever counted sheep to get to sleep? The method is confusing. There are no supposed ‘sheep.’ The only sheep I’m close to are the little fluffs that roll up into balls on my old white socks, and the ones that zap you afer they’ve come out of the drying machine.

Never in my bedroom.

But still, as I try to distract myself with my confusing sheep one-sided conversation, I still can’t stop thinking about him. The blonde bit in the quiff he manages to upkeep every morning. The whiteness of his teeth, when mine are more near an off-white. More like the inside of a banana.

            He’s perfect. Since when are you considered in the ‘perfect’ category?

 

Sometimes I wonder why I’ve been picked to do the things I do. Fall in love, for that matter. Yes, ‘love.’ I have recently concluded I’m in love with him. His eyes. His quiff. His smell. His clothes. Cologne. The way he walks. His wonderful Bradford accent, which you can’t usually find out here in London. The way he bites his lip when he’s confused or thinking hard about something. The almost-invisible dimple on his right cheek that no fans have picked up on. Yet.

But most of all I’m in love with the Zayn the fans don’t know. The Zayn that gets mad at you when you throw popcorn at him, or put the forks in his cutlery drawer wrong. The one who checks if clothes are clean by smelling them, instead of washing them. The Zayn that always carries a packet of Nicorette in one pocket, and a pack of smokes in the other. Most of all the Zayn who’s perfect, being imperfect.

The imperfect Zayn, with all his flaws. Is it sad to love that part of him? Because I don’t think it is.

The last thing I think before I fall asleep is,

 

 

 

 

 

I wonder what Zayn’s thinking about right now.

               

 

Zayn’s POV

As I inhale, and let out a gust of smoke, I think about my options. Ask her? Don’t ask her?

Ask her.

 

Goddamn, I can’t answer. What if she has a boyfriend? We’ve never talked about wether or not we’re in a relationship with other people. It’s distinctly been girl-boy-bestfriend relationship. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Is it bad I want more of her?  To be able to hug her and kiss her without complaint or surprise? To love her for being the beautiful girl she is? She’s never spoken to me, but even so, I can just imagine her voice. A sweet, lovable, feminine London accent with a tint of Australian, for those two years in the sunny side of the world. Her laugh. Good god, her laugh. When she laughed earlier today… I couldn’t contain my happiness.

I didn’t know she could speak, let alone show any type of vocal ammusement.

As I puff on my cigarette, I wonder. What would happen if things got serious? If I asked her to be my girlfriend? Maybe more? What would happen if all through our relationship, she never told me she loved me… with her real voice.

I figured out two things.

One) I loved Aurora with all my heart.

And Two) I wanted- no, needed to hear her voice.

As I throw the cig on the ground and stomp it out with my battered Converse, I hear a couple laughs behind me.

“What’s got ya thinkin’ so hard, mate?” I hear an Irish accent ask. Niall.

“I’m gonna go get me my girl.” I look behind me and smirk at him, with his green Adidas sweater and white Supras slipped on his sockless feet. His eyebrows raise, and I laugh quietly. I just realized; he doesn’t know I’m completely in love with her.

Well, he’s going to figure out soon.

But not before I get her myself.

---- (Twenty minutes later)----

“I’m going out, boys!” I yell inside, as I snap the door shut. As I run half the block to Aurora and her brother’s flat, I think about what could – and couldn’t – go wrong. She could A) Tell (or write) that she loves me back, or B) Reject me so I am miserable the rest of my life.

I was pulling for the first option.

As I let myself in with the extra key she gave me, I tap my way up the seven flights of stairs. Two more long bounds, and I’d be right outside her door.

She was there… right in there. Sleeping, maybe? On her laptop? Doing whatever she does when she’s alone?

As I find Flat #98, and knock the cheap brass knocker three times, I wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Just as I’m about to leave and give up, someone answers the door. I look behind me, and see Aurora in all her breathtaking beauty.

Well, beauty in all her sweatpants-and-t-shirt-ness.

I open my mouth, and before I think over what I’m about to say, I blurt out what comes to mind first.

“Aurora, I’m falling in love you.”

A/N 

AWWWWWWWWWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE<3  -Fern x