[COMPLETED]
❝Of all the races I've started, loving him is the one I never want to finish.❞
In this re-imagination of my most popular story, Arielle Hawthorne is an illegal street racer, just like Zayn Malik. Zayn's egotistical, flirty, and a major p...
The One With An Unexpected Reunion: Part II — Zayn's Point Of View
"If you don't let it out, the grief becomes a scream trapped inside your soul, a constant cry in the dark, a sob you can never release. So scream, shout, cry—the way the sky does with thunder and lightning and rain... for it knows it is being cleansed, it knows that its storm is the only way to release the pain." — Nikita Gill
A/N: i apologize for the long wait for this chapter, i was trying to enjoy the holiday season thoroughly, as well as take a good mental break after a hard term of uni! i hope everyone had a safe, wonderful holiday season!
i was gonna post on sunday, but i had a very bad mental health week, until zayn liked my tweet and i got my first notice in the nearly nine years of stanning him 🥺 i've also held off bc of the album!
anyways, i realize this chapter might seem repetitive (since the last was arielle's pov from the same night), but i think it's very important to see zayn's side of things. to see the little hints i popped in about his true, hidden behaviour in arielle's pov that she (and even y'all) might've missed! ☺️
the next chapter will be less depressing (especially since zayn's have been so heartbreaking lately)! or i guess it could be more depressing now that i think of it..... depends how you look at it, i guess
i ask, pray, beg that y'all leave lots of comments, as i always do. this is a looooong ass chapter!!!! and you know how much i love them and how excited they get me to update 🥺 💛
enjoy! ✨
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Z A Y N
As I walk around the space, I study the people around me—a stuck up, snobby, rich crowd that doesn't have anything better to do than stand around, making conversation with those who share their financial status. Bragging about going out on yachts, luxurious trips, the latest piece of expensive jewelry, gloating about their kids getting into prestigious universities and colleges that they likely bribed their way into.
It's all so fake. So surface level. And honestly, sad. I can't imagine caring more about money and material items than the people around me.
Just as I'm passing a couple boasting about buying a fucking jet, I notice a woman in red and I have to do a double take.
She looks familiar, but her back is to me as she glances over her silky dress. I admire the curves of her hips, the sexy dimples at the base of her spine, the way her hair cascades down the bare skin of her back, exposed by the deep scoop of the material tight to her frame.
