Halfway Across The World (A Zayn Malik Fanfiction)

Chapter Eight

Waking up a bear, you asked for wounds. Waking up Zayn Malik, you've asked for a death wish. Zayn hopped off the plane, his father right behind him. Zayn was in a pissy mood. He had just woken up.. Sounds bad enough.

He had finally arrived in Pakistan, the land where Yaser was born. They went through a quick security scan for someone who has entered from outside of the country. Luckily, it didn't take that long. Pakistan doesn't have very high security regulations. How would they? They didn't have the money to do that. Zayn ran a hand through his matted hair. One and a half day of traveling without a mirror? Zayn could barely function.

As he walked out the doors of the airport, he could feel the gust of heat rush towards his skin.
It felt like he had entered a desert. He hadn't ever been to Pakistan, and let it be said it was quite an experience. As soon as Zayn stepped outside, there was an entry way to the parking lot with two sides of angry looking men. It felt as if you were the lucky prisoner who got let go early, and all your inmates were jealous.

"Ignore the stares, they're angry about you being able to come and go as you please, whereas they are stuck here because they don't have a green card." Yaser whispered in Zayn's ear.

Zayn nodded in a subtle way, trying not to let people know what they were talking about.

--

"Take us to this address, please." Yaser told the rickshaw* driver

The rickshaw driver nodded, and sped off, creating dust against the wheels.

"Son, you realize that to fit in here, you're going to have to learn Urdu." Yaser said specifically in English so the driver wouldn't eavesdrop

"Why? Not like I'm the one living here.." he said looking at the environment with a disgusted expression.

"You will be for 3 months, might as well learn something new." Yaser chuckled.

"500 rupees.." the rickhsaw driver muttered..

Yaser took out his wallet, not realizing that they arrived to his house already.

"Here," he said, slapping the money on the oily-faced driver.

"Thanks."

Zayn grabbed their bags, exiting vehicle, waiting for his father to open the gate. Yaser reached in his pant pocket, jingling a few items like coins, and finally he found his keys. You could tell by the look on Yaser's face, how excited he was. It was like a child finding presents under the tree on Christmas. Unlocking the gate, Yaser motioned for Zayn to come inside the house. As soon as Yaser was about to open the door to their house, one of the many servants came running to the door.

"Yaser! You're home so soon!" he yelled in Urdu.

"Yes, I wanted to show my son my magnificent home along with where he belongs." Yaser said wholeheartedly.

Zayn rolled his eyes. Even if he couldn't fluently speak Urdu, he could definitely understand it.

"My, has the boy grown. Assalam o' Alikum, Zayn." the servant greeted, putting his hand out for Zayn.

"Assalam o' Alikum." Zayn replied.

"Let me take those heavy bags from you. Yaser, come inside. She has been waiting for you." the servant smiled.

...She? Zayn thought. How could his father be cheating on his mother?! Zayn's face was in pure shock.

Yaser smiled with excitement. "Zayn, I want you to meet someone who I've grown so close to while you've been gone. She's been keeping me company this whole time."

"Dad, I don't wanna meet her." Zayn said, voice cracking.

"Trust me, you'll love her." Yaser chuckled, leading heatbroken Zayn inside.

"Father!" a young girl yelled from across the room

"Mariam," Yaser teared a little. This so-called, 'Mariam' came to Zayn's father, her head colliding with his stomach. She hugged him with force, illustrating how much she had missed him.

"This is the girl I wanted you to meet, Zayn. This is Mariam." Yaser smiled.

But, Zayn wasn't smiling, his well-known smirk played onto his pink lips.

Mariam tilted her head with confusion, but Zayn kept smirking.

--

*rickshaw - it's kindof like a taxi, they take you where you want if you pay them. But, at the same time it's a motorcycle because of how small it is.