Chapter 15: 14

'Dynamite' - BTS

Unedited

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Zayn dropped the weights back into the floor, resting for thirty seconds before dropping into a short three minutes plank. He continued with the rest of his workout, then searched up a quick HIIT workout. For the first part of his workout, he followed a routine, the second part he switched up daily. Stretching new muscles. And also so he didn't get bored and lazy.

He collapsed on the group, unable to move. He was on the verge of overworking himself; he was also fasting today and he even skipped the usual pre-dawn meal (sehri), so the last thing he had was the tea he had with Syra the evening before.

Syra. He wondered what she was doing. Surely if she could post tiktoks abou her art project she could text him. He didn't expect a yes or no; just one to let him know they were carrying on this conversation. But it seemed like she had better things to do.

If there was one thing Zayn absolutely despised, that would be assumptions. He hated it when people assumed shit and then acted upon those assumptions. Like all those stupid book and movie characters. So he distracted himself so he didn't think of her - he had never failed so miserably. Her eyes flashed in his mind, he could still smell her lavender scent, her fiddling with her hands, her lips, her small waist, her expressive eyebrows, the way her hips moved when she walked, her che-

Stop torturing yourself, pagal, he scolded himself. (Crazy). Yes, maybe he didn't stop thinking about her, but he definitely avoided thinking why she was talking to him, what kept her so occupied. He gave her the benefit of doubt; maybe something important is keeping her busy. She has also said her phone was acting up. He would just have to see on Monday. The last week of International Day. He would've hated participating in events that's made him work with others, but he just smiled now whenever he thought of his life before Syra. He'd been very different; he had never thought his college would bring out anything good for him, but it did.

His phone rang. The caller was Mabdi.

"Salam, Zayn. You free?" asked Mabdi.

"Walaikumasalam. Yeah, why?" responded Zayn, suspicious. His friend was acting way too serious in contrast to his usual cheeky self.

"I'm at High Road right now. There's something you gotta see. Trust me on this. Wallahi this ain't no prank," (By God).

"Ight I'm on my way. See you," and Zayn cut the call.

Zayn would have never believed Mabdi, but he swore by God and as a Muslim, he couldn't break that promise or lie.

"This better be worth it," Zayn muttered to himself as he quickly cleared up and headed out the gym, annoyed he was all sweaty and didn't get to take a shower.

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It was a Sunday, so the High Road was busy, packed with shoppers on both sides of the pavements. Food shops were bursting with people and the clothes store had armies of people with shopping bags. Mabdi had texted him to come over to the open area, where an art competition had just been held. Being 6"4 gave him an advantage; he could easily see over everyone and didn't have to inhale any one's body odour.

Zayn finally reached the open area and went to where Mabdi was waiting for him. Mabdi saw him and beckoned him over.

"What you saying?" asked Zayn.

He didn't know why Londoners had started to use this as a slang greeting or what you're actually supposed to reply to it but he used it, anyways, out of habit.

"Well I was just here getting some stuff for hoya but I got sidetracked by this big ass art competition. They announced the winner and when I got a closer look I saw the name. Syra Hayat Siddiqi. And, well, man thinks you should go check out her artwork. You won't regret it." (Mum).

Zayn nodded, sort of confused. Had Mabdi really called him over here just to view her artwork? He obviously didn't mind coming, but he would rather that Syra show him, or tell him. There must be something important for Mabdi to be calling him all the way over here.

Zayn walked ahead, to the stalls that were set up. There were three tables, displaying the top three winners. As Syra won first place, he headed for the centre one. And froze once he laid his eyes on her work.

She had drawn a guy. On the sides were small sketches of him, looking to the side, smiling, writing, doing something; all candid pieces. In the middle was a large canvas was a piece of the guy slightly smiling and looking up and to the side. This one was actually coloured in. She had sketched it with coloured pencils, bringing his tan skin to life, even the silver-grey eyes somehow.

It took him a few moments to process she had drawn him. Zayn just stared at her work; numb with shock. He could've sworn she barely looked at him unless she was addressing him, yet the planes of his face, every curve and line, the definition, was all wholly him. He was amazed. She had either sneaked looks at him undetected or she had a photographic memory. A warm feeling spread through him, causing him to smile. A thought suddenly occurred to him.

He hurried back to where the rules were written, and scanned it. You had to enter something that was close to your heart, something raw. Submit your first few attempts around your main portrait, to show your journey. And you had to write a piece to go with it. Zayn legged it back to her stand to read what she had written.

"I'm Syra. Syra Hayat Siddiqi. I'm sixteen, and I'm currently in sixth form college doing my A levels. Which consists of Human Bio, Sociology and Psychology, so I don't get to focus on my art or find a focus for it; a subject. Until my college announced an International Day and I was paired with this guy, Zayn. I was instantly very taken by him, and as any artist would do when they see something they would like to create, I assessed him. Okay also because he was very pleasing to the eye. He had that mysterious aura to him; detached, and I wanted to change that, or find out more about it. There was always some sort of friction between us, and we did have rather big egos so we were mostly left assuming things of each other, which can ruin a lot of things so I did my best to avoid that. I was left feeling, well, rather discombobulated. So I drew him, taking out my frustrations - we seem to have a communication problem. I wanted to talk to him through my art. I don't know if he will see this, but I do hope he does. I left my speech till last minute, and I was so glad I did, because Friday was one of the best days of my life. He confessed to me his feelings, which inspired this. I didn't get to tell him how I felt so here I am. Something very close to my heart; perhaps the only thing that has gotten past the barriers. Tried to stop it; well my attempts were futile. If he's reading this; Zayn, yes. Yes to anything you say. I know I'm a wuss, an absolute coward for not being able to say this to your face; but hopefully, in the future it will come easily to me. I know that if you do know me as you said you did, you'll find this, even if it's not on your own. If we do have a future together, you will find this. And I so very hope you do. Love, Sia,"

Zayn felt disoriented. Didn't seem like reality. The hum of conversations around him grew distant, all he could hear was Syra reading out her confession. Even if she wasn't actually there. This felt so personal; she was no coward - baring yourself like this for everyone to see, so open, so vulnerable, takes a lot of courage. She was brave in his eyes; but most importantly she did reciprocate his feelings. He felt guilty for not finding out about this himself, but remembered he'd have walked by here on his way back and seen it. The shock hadn't worn off yet, it hadn't settled in his system yet. His brain had malfunctioned, he just stared lamely in awe at the paragraph and the portrait. Some people had gathered around him, looking at her work and back at him, clicking that he was the one. Some took out their phones, gushing. Zayn didn't care, he felt stuck. He was sure he would've stayed there waiting until Mabdi pulled him back out, grinning his face off. He slapped Zayn on the back a couple of times, snapping him out of his daze.

"Well! Shahzad heard from Zeyd that you planned to confess to her so he came and told all of us. We knew you'd only tell us after she gave an answer. So we waited. Then even Saturday passed. And then I decided to come to you after I was done with my shît and look what I find. I showed the rest by the way. The mandem approves of her, she's one of a kind," rambled Mabdi, jumping around like a hyperactive toddler.

Zayn just nodded deftly, still feeling dazed. A slow smile spread on his face and he turned to Mabdi, matching his energy.

"She said yes. Like actually agreed. It wasn't just my ego imagining shit - she does like me. Bro imma shit my pants - I can't believe it. Bruvvvvvvv,"

Zayn was on a high - he was walking around throwing his hands up in the hair, through his hair with an incredulous smile on his face. Mabdi watched him laughing, and the two set off towards The Urban Chocolatier for a much-needed celebration.

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It was dinner, and his whole family had been assembled. His extended family would all be having a large get-together next week, so he wanted to tell his immediate family members first, then once everything was confirmed, his extended family.

Zayn sat down on his bed to rest for a bit. He'd been helping around the house which had easily tired him out because of his intense workout earlier.

His mum always insisted her sons help out in the housework - all inhabitants of the house took turns in the chores. His sisters alternated between themselves for the dishes, while he and his brothers alternated running errands. His father always did the front and back garden; he hated anyone else's work. Other than that his businesses kept him occupied and any free time he had he spent at home, with the family.

And no one in the house could match their mother's cooking. She enjoyed her role as a stay at home mum, but after a couple of culinary courses here and there, anyone else who cooked other than her was subjected to heavy criticism and scrunity. Her kitchen was her domain; she didn't let anyone do anything unauthorised.

After a quick shower, Zayn stepped out and wore his white Nike socks and was in the middle of pulling on his grey bottoms before the doorbell rang. He cursed and grabbed a T shirt while running out, opening the door and running down the stairs T shirt in hand before Zaina appeared out of nowhere and opened the door. Zayn cursed again - it wasn't that his family didn't like him shirtless, but he was no longer as skinny as he used to be and they'd surely notice. He looked around and peaked inside the living room, shirt clutched to his chest but saw his sister in laws in there so he definitely didn't go in there. The other rooms had his family in too so he quietly jogged down the hallway to the kitchen and turned and slammed the door behind him. He pulled on his T shirt, turned and rested against the door, eyes shut, exhausted already. A throat cleared in front of him and he opened his eyes to see Ziad and Ammi in the kitchen.

"Idr udr kyu bhagrai ho? Or shirt kyu nahi peyni ti?" demanded his mother, looking at his with a disapproving look on her face, wooden spoon pointed at him. (Why are you running here and there? And why didn't you wear your shirt?)

"Woh doorbell baji ti, toh mai woh kolnay gayta, lekin shirt abhi pehnra ta aur Zaina ne koldi ya ta. Dusray kamray mai bhabiya or bhene ti. Tou mai idr agya taa," Zahn responded, still trying to catch his breath. (The doorbell rang, so I went to open that, but I was putting on my shirt them and then Zaina had opened it. In the other room were [my] sister-in-laws and sisters. So I came here,"

"Zyada healthy lagrai ho, Mashallah," commented his oldest brother who was twenty seven. (You are looking more healthy, as God has willed).

"Aur zyada khush, mera puttar," added Ammi, smiling affectionately at Zayn. (And more happy, my son.)

Zayn just smiled hesitantly, not the best at taking praise. He said instead,

"Mujhe sab se pehle ek zaroori baat karni hai." First I need to tell everyone something important).

"Then say it," replied Ziad, rolling his eyes childishly.

"No, not now but in front of everyone." Zayn shot back.

"Abey yaar, stop being so mushkil and say it," huffed Ziad, ever the impatient. (Come on man), (difficult).

Zayn just shook his head and exited the kitchen to find his sister to ask her for her cookies. He'd been deprived of junk food for way too long. Talk about priorities. That little trip to The Urban Chocolatier hardly counted, or so he told himself.

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They had dinner a little while ago, and now were crowded in the living room together sipping tea. He remembered when Syra was here last week.

"So I have to tell you lot something," Zayn announced loudly to get everyone's attention.

His brothers, sisters, brother in law, sister in laws and parents all turned to look at him, curious. It's not always that the person who had the least to say had something to announce. His parents looked at each other, no doubt trying to figure it out, before turning back to him. He swallowed nervously past the lump in this throat, put his teacup down and sat up straight before addressing everybody,

"Well, recently, as you know, at my college there's an International event thingy going on for this past month. And we were randomly paired up to win this event. I was paired with this girl - Syra. You guys know her, she came last week Friday," he paused, taking in each of their faces.

His siblings kind of already knew, watching him with barely concealed laughter. He looked away from them, knowing he's burst out laughing too. God, they could never be serious. His parents on the other hand, looked like they were waiting for the worst. He sighed and continued,

"So, uhm, you know we've been working together and stuff and she's - she's really nice and all. I, you know, kinda liked her so I -"

"AIIII HAIIIII, my son is growing up! Finally a girl caught your attention!" Ammi dramatically cried out, hands fluttering up to her face.

His siblings sniggered and made fun of him, but were nonetheless pleased for him.

"You didn't say or do anything out of order, did you?" questioned Aboo, face still impassive.

"No, of course not. On Friday I asked her for her fathers number, you know, to go about this properly. It was more of a formality - we already know her dad," he said.

Some of his family stared in surprise; he could understand why. Pre-Syra Zayn scoffed at the idea of marriage.

"And what did she say?" asked Zaina, excited.

"Well we were interrupted. Right when she was going to reply to me. And that by Saleh & Ilyas. So I waited for her to message or something but she didn't. But today Mabdi called me to High Road and showed me an art competition she won. She had drawn me and left me a note, saying what she would have said on Friday. So now I'm just waiting till tomorrow I guess,"

All at once the room erupted into chaos. His siblings laughing and joking, his sibling in laws congratulating him and his parents. They were shocked, his mum also upset at finding out so late, but she was happy, and his father was proud. Dang, he couldn't remember when he had ever seen them like this for him. After everyone quietened down a little, they resumed the conversation,

"Sikandar called me on Friday actually. They had gone to a dawat hosted by Saleh's future in laws - they went to confirm things then actually. After that, they quickly made a plan to drive up to Scotland, to visit the rest of his in laws in Edinburgh - they're actually from there but moved here later on. And I think he vaguely mentioned taking his daughter's phone to fix it." explained his father.

Zayn had never felt more relieved upon hearing this.

"So when you gonna go to her folks?" asked Zakaria.

Just exactly what Zayn has been dreading.

"Well I'm going to speak to Syra again on Monday. Get her fathers number for real and then call him, arrange a date to meet and then we'll see haha they think of me." Zayn responded.

"I thought you had some sort of fight with her. That's why I thought you two were acting ajeeb last Friday," revealed Ammi. (Strange).

Zayn leaned back and continued discussing life with his family, a feeling of contentment spreading through him. Today he was here, tomorrow he's be in his fathers shoes. With Syra by his side, and their whole army of children. He smirked at the thought.

It felt good to finally be back on track.

He couldn't wait to see her tomorrow.

His Sia.

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Some long ass chapter I wrote here. I'm actually so brain dead right now I'm surprised at how this turned out. The whole way Zayn found out about Syra's feelings was inspired by where I live actually.

I love big families - I'm part of one too. I also know imma get married young and also have a whole army of children - yes adoption too. What bout you guys? I know our generation isn't too fond of children but I can't wait tbh lol. I wanna get married before I start uni actually, and build my life with my husband. People think I'm mad, but getting married young doesn't mean life ends too. I can still be independent. And I wanna be a part time house wife and focus on the science career and henna career. Boom. My life plan.

3200 words.