The Memory Jar [Zayn Malik]

Chapter 12: Frightening

Hello, all you lovely people! Ah, so first order of business is to ANNOUNCE that it's the second day of NaNoWriMo! :D If you didn't see, I'm participating this year, and depending on how on-schedule I am, updates for this story may be rare until December. Just want you all to be aware! Shoot me a message or something if you're participating as well, or just like to watch the chaos! x) We can all be excited and spazz about it together! 

Alright, now on this chapter... sigh. Honestly, I think it's not great. I know, I know, why the heck did I post it then? Well, I'm already two days late on the last update and I feel bad, and I promised I'd update, so.... here I am. Up until the second half, I think it's fine, just... bleh. I don't know... 

For all of your shipper hearts out there, I will tell you there are major Zana moments and feels (for you Tumblr people that understand "feels), throughout this chapter! 

Let me know what you think by dropping a comment and/or voting? I really appreciate all the feedback you guys give me, you're all amazing and beautiful! :) 

Dana 

            “Oh this is excellent Dana, just excellent!” Emma’s practically bouncing in her chair as she turns my half-filled Memory Jar in her hands, peering at the slips of paper approvingly.

            “They’re mostly useless things,” I attempt to point out. “Favorite color, best subject in school, that kind of thing. Not really a lot of use now.”  

            Emma chuckles and sets the jar down on the table between us. “How many times do I have to tell you?” She asks, a teasing tone to her voice. “It doesn’t matter. A memory is a memory, and if you’re remembering small things like that, it’s only a matter of time until you remember the bigger, more important things.” 

            I glance over at Zayn and see that he’s nodding approvingly, but chewing on his lip, as if he’s nervous or distracted about something.

            I admit I’m kind of thankful that neither of them will read my memories. I don’t want Emma gushing about my larger, more confusing memories, or for Zayn to worry, as he always seems to nowadays. 

            “And you’re doing your exercises?”

            I nod. “Yes, of course.” 

          Sometimes I can’t help but wonder if Emma realizes that I want my memory back just as badly as she does, maybe even more so. But I don’t have the heart to tell her anything like that and risk hurting her feelings; her heart is in the right place after all. 

            “Excellent,” she claps her hands together and stands. “After just a little over a month, look at how well you’re doing!” 

            It’s been a month already? My mind can’t help but reel sometimes, at how quickly time can fly. Then again, for me, it may seem that way only because I don’t have a lot of previous memories to take up the space in my head.

            I suppose I have some of the larger ones though. The ones about the reporter/ fashion expert, and the man and boy under the bridge. I still spend a lot of time wondering what ever happened to them all, and if they still remember me as little as I do them.

            Jolting out of my thoughts when Zayn stands and taps my shoulder, I see Emma smiling at us both like a proud mother. When I look closer, I see that she even has the glisten of tears in her eyes.