💎 Z A Y N 💎

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.