Zayn

‎The living room was quiet, just the soft ticking of the clock filling the air. You were busy folding laundry when Zayn’s voice called you from the couch. ‎ ‎“Babe…” His tone was oddly soft, almost fragile. ‎ ‎When you walked over, your eyes fell on the old photo album spread across his lap. He had stopped at one page—your high school days. His fingers lingered on one picture in particular. ‎ ‎It was you, smiling shyly beside a tall boy with messy hair. ‎ ‎Zayn lifted the photo slightly, his lips pressing into a pout. “Who’s… this?” ‎ ‎You chuckled at his serious expression. “Oh, him? He was my crush back in high school. I used to think he was the coolest guy ever. I’d wait just to see him pass by the corridor…” ‎ ‎You rambled on, nostalgia slipping into your words as you told little stories about your teenage self, too caught up in the memory to notice the silence growing beside you. ‎ ‎Finally, when you stopped, a faint sound broke the air—a sniffle. You turned, startled, only to see him sitting stiffly, his eyes red, tears streaming down his face. ‎ ‎“Zayn?!” you gasped, crouching in front of him. ‎ ‎“So… so you liked him that much?” His voice cracked, childishly broken. “I-I didn’t know you smiled like that for someone else…” ‎ ‎You blinked, stunned. “Zayn, that was years ago. It’s nothing—” ‎ ‎But he cut you off, clutching the photo with shaky hands. “No, don’t lie… I can see it in your eyes even now when you talk about him. Y-You were glowing, and I…” His chest heaved with uneven breaths. “I’ll never forgive myself if I can’t make you smile like that again.” ‎ ‎You reached for his face, brushing away his tears, but he buried himself against your shoulder, holding you desperately. His voice muffled against your skin. ‎ ‎“Please… tell me I’m the only one now. Tell me I’m enough for you.” ‎