°• 𝙰𝙻𝙱𝚄𝙼 𝙰𝚁𝚃 •°[ 𝚣𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 ]

No Judgement 👸🏽

ZAYN

When you're with me, no judgement
You can get that from anyone else
You don't have to prove nothing
You can just be yourself
When you're with me, no judgement
We can get that from everyone else
And we don't have to prove nothing
When you're with me, no judgement

I might have looked like I was holding it all together—walking into work every day with my bag slung over my shoulder, my sketchbook in hand, and a quiet smile for everyone I passed—but inside, I was fraying at the edges.

Over the past few days, keeping Harry Styles off my mind had turned into a full-time job. And the irony was painful: my actual job required me to stare at his face for hours on end. Posters, behind-the-scenes booklet layouts, album mockups—it was like trying to put out a fire with petrol.

Every time I caught a glimpse of those eyes, that lopsided smile, or even the casual way he carried himself into a room, something in me shifted—like I was being pulled toward him without meaning to be. And the more it happened, the more I realised I couldn't keep pretending like it wasn't. I was on the brink of losing my grip, spiralling into something I didn't fully understand.

I needed to talk to someone before I completely lost my mind.

There were only four people on the planet I could trust enough to speak to about this without fear of judgment. Three of them lived inconveniently far away—in Scotland, Canada, and Japan. But the fourth? The fourth was a godsend. Naisargi.

We met in college—me, shy and trying to disappear into my oversized jumpers, and her, this vibrant whirlwind of confidence who decided she was going to be my best friend whether I liked it or not. Over the years, she'd become something of a human security blanket. A voice of reason when I didn't trust my own, and someone who could make me laugh even on the days I could barely speak.

It was a rare Sunday morning I found myself out of bed before 2 p.m., but for her, I made the exception. She was only in town for a few days—her stage design job kept her flying between continents like it was nothing—so when she texted me saying she had time for breakfast, I leapt at the chance. I needed clarity, and I knew if anyone could give it to me straight, it was her.

I got to the café early, partly out of eagerness, partly because I needed a few moments to calm the tornado inside my chest. The bell above the door chimed at exactly 10 a.m., and in walked Naisargi, looking as effortlessly cool as ever—dark sunglasses, denim jacket, that easy smirk she always wore when she knew she'd be hearing something dramatic.

I stood up and wrapped her in a hug that felt like a weight lifting off my shoulders. We ordered—coffee for her, tea for me, and the rare treat of a proper Sunday breakfast—and for a while, we caught up on everything from her tour schedule to my current caffeine addiction. But eventually, the conversation slowed. The moment came. And I knew she could tell something was up.

I took a breath. Then I told her everything.

The late nights at the studio. The moment Harry sat down with me at the café. The weird, twisting feeling in my gut when I talked about Joe. The way Harry's smile was starting to take up residence in my brain. The shame, the confusion, the terrifying realisation that maybe this wasn't just a weird phase.

I expected her to laugh. Or at least look mildly amused. Instead, she just sipped her coffee, eyes sharp, expression serious.

When I finished—flushed, a bit breathless, and already regretting how chaotic I sounded—she set her mug down and looked straight at me.

"Zayn," she said, "Harry never really left your mind. He's always been the blueprint for what you wanted in someone—you just buried it under life, under routines and relationships and the idea that he could only ever exist as this untouchable fantasy version of himself."

I stared at her, unsure of where she was going with this.

"But now you're face to face with him. And what you're realising is that he's not just as incredible as you thought—he's better. He's thoughtful, grounded, real. You're not dealing with a celebrity crush anymore. You're dealing with the fact that the man you dreamed about is suddenly a living, breathing person who sees you. And that," she said, leaning forward slightly, "is messing with your head."

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry.

"So... what am I supposed to do?"

She smiled gently. "You need to figure out if what you're feeling is love... or awe. Do you want to be with him, Zayn? Or are you just overwhelmed by who he is and how close he is to everything you once thought you could never have? Because those are two very different things—and only one of them is worth risking everything else for."

I leaned back in my chair, her words ringing louder in my ears than the café music overhead. I didn't know the answer. Not yet. But for the first time in days, I felt like I had a place to start.

And sometimes, that's all clarity really is.