The air is crisp and cold as Zayn steps out of his apartment.
He has always loved New York. Loves the weather here and how people walk on the street without a care in the world. He also loves the good memories of the forgotten past related to this city. Memories that sometimes make him want to close his eyes and reminisce them but he can't. He can't allow himself to do that. Because the good memories always come with those haunting memories that he has been trying to forget.
Memories, that he hasn't forgotten completely.
But after all these years, he can say that he has successfully hid them in the depth of his heart. He is in a better place now.
The air around him feels heavy as he gets into his car. Holding the steering wheel tight, he takes some deep breaths and counts one to ten backwards - just as his psychiatrist taught him to do in the moments of him feeling restless.
The memory of his doctor looking at him with sympathetic eyes still haunts him. He never wanted someone's sympathy. Especially from someone who doesn't even know him personally. But he couldn't say anything to her back then. Back when he was so lost that he couldn't even find himself, when he couldn't even function properly, when he didn't even know if he was alive, when his family and fans got so worried. That's when he knew he got to get better. If not for himself, for the ones who love him. That's how he found himself in front of Melanie Roberts, his psychiatrist, three years ago. And even though he didn't like getting the treatment at first, he knows she played a big role in improving his mental health. He can't thank her enough for that.
Shaking the thoughts off his head, Zayn goes to put the address in the GPS of his car when he feels his phone beep in his jean pocket. He leans back against the seat and fetch out the iPhone from his pocket before unlocking it.
There are many things on his notification tray, Zayn notices. Six e-mails from work, two missed calls from his mother, 3 from his sisters, 1 from Liam. But what caught his attention the most, was a text. Not any text but a text from Louis.
Louis Tomlinson. His ex-bandmate, partner in crime. Louis, who was always there for him when he would miss his family and comfort him. Louis, who made him feel it's okay to be a rebel sometimes, as long it's making you happy. Louis, who always would make fun of him but love him at the same time. Louis, whom he unintentionally offended on Twitter after he left the band. After which, they both experienced a coldness in their relationship for a long time. That continued until one day, Zayn got the news of Johanna Deakin, Louis' mum's death, that the two friends reconnected again and found themselves in each other's comforting arms, on her funeral.
"Fucking hell, Malik! What the fuck have you done?! Call me ASAP. We need to talk." The text reads and Zayn wants to chuckle because it's so like Louis.
He sends a quick reply to his mother, sisters, Liam and Louis saying he is okay and that he needs some time alone. After that, he switches off the phone and puts it back in his pocket. Quickly enough, he puts the destination into the GPS and finally starts the car.
He needs to get away.
*********
Thank you for all the positive responses on this story. I really really owe you guys everything ❤
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We Don't Talk Enough
Short Story"No, you don't get to do this." He looks at him angrily. But there's also a tinge of sadness behind those green eyes, Zayn can see that. Because even after all these years, he can still read Harry like an open book. "Do what?" Zayn asks softly, even...
