Invincible ➵h.s

~Chapter 11~

RISSA'S POV:

The next few days, went tantamountly. I woke up, munched on some breakfast, told Zayn to have a great day and then went to work.

At the end of another coffee-filled day, Harry would appear right before closing time. I would brew up a French Vanilla for the two of us, and we would chat and walk. It was a daily routine that I was used to.

Now here I stand, on a Friday night, watching Gretta throw together a mouth-watering meal for Zayn and I. Zayn has a couple of maids that take care of all of the chores. That leaves me with nothing to do but watch over them.

Gretta is a kind and is a little forty year-old. She is very talkative and kind. I occasionally see her running around the house, doing her work. Her food is always amazing and I constantly ask her for recipes. She only replies with, 'As long as I'm here, you don't need to know the recipes, my dear'. That leaves me in the dark once again.

"Gretta," I drone on. I love bugging her; she's like my mother.

She shoots me a disapproving, yet entertained look. "What do you want, Rissa?" She replies, focusing on her stir-fry.

Gretta's greying hair is tucked behind her ear and her couple of wrinkles are prominent.

"I'm bored. Please let me help you." I exhale the words, while leaning on the counter.

He simply shakes her head. "No can do, my dear. Mr. Malik has told me not to let you do any work."

"But why?" I dragged out, like a three-year-old.

"Because," Gretta looked at me. "Mr. Malik said so."

I rolled my eyes. "You can call him Zayn. He's younger than you. It's weird when he gets older people to refer to him as 'Mr. Malik'." I advised Gretta.

He only laughed and threw in a few more spices. "I work under him so for me he's Mr. Malik."

I sighed, "Well, technically, I am 'Miss. Malik' and I say that you can call him Zayn. At least in front of me, you can." I rambled on and on.

Gretta laughed heartedly. "Okay, 'Miss. Malik'." She sarcastically stated.

I didn't actually mean the 'Miss. Malik' thing- I just said that to prove my point.

Just then, Zayn walked into the kitchen. I looked at him as he made his way over to the dining table. He was wearing a white t-shirt with grey sweats and a maroon coloured beanie. It's quite a rare sight to see him like that. He's always dressed so formally.

"Hello Mr. Malik," Gretta spoke, while teasing the stir-fry with her kitchen utensils.

"Good evening, Gretta." He spoke and sat down at the table. I watched as he rested his chin in his palm. He's so young yet he is so mature.

"Busy day at work?" I questioned whilst walking over to him.

He nodded and shut his eyes.

"Well," Gretta started. "I'm throwing together your favourite."

Zayn's eyes shot open and he smiled. "Chicken stir-fry?" He asked, like a hopeful child.

Gretta hummed in agreement and this seemed to add to Zayn's excitement even more. "I don't know what I would do without you, Gretta." He sighed happily.

"Anything for you, Mr. Malik." Was what she said.

I sat down across Zayn at the table. His eyes flashed over to me and he smiled a bit. I mirrored his actions and rested my chin in my hand, just like him.