Terminal Four (Z.M)

t h r e e .

a/n:- why is this chapter so long what

Z A Y N J A W A A D M A L I K

Zayn had never been really into cars, unlike most boys his age.

He had never found anything too spectacular about BMWs or Aston Martins (excluding the fact that they were bloody expensive, they were just scraps of metal). But one thing he had always been fascinated by?

Guitars.

Ever since he had been seven years old, he had always loved these beautiful musical instruments. He still remembered walking home from school every day, right past that little music shop in the corner where he would linger for a few seconds, his hands pressed against the glass, staring at the gorgeous pieces of glossy wood with silver strings. The shopkeeper- a man in his early thirties- would raise his hand in greeting at Zayn, and Zayn would wave back- in hope that maybe the man would let him in and try the guitars.

The man had finally invited him inside to strum a couple of chords on Zayn's thirteenth birthday.

The guitar had been ruby red, an acoustic beauty with hollow sound. Zayn had held the instrument carefully, running his hands over the nape and body of the guitar, breathing in the freshly cut maple scent. He was so in awe by the graceful guitar that he sat down and just held it- didn't pluck a single string. His heart was pumping with adrenaline. He was beyond obsessed and he knew it.

But he had known that he could never buy one of these guitars for himself. Where the heck would a thirteen year old get three hundred and eighty dollars from? Living in a family of six, with three makeup obsessed sisters, he knew his parents couldn't afford to buy him luxuries like guitars and such.

But determination had always been part of Zayn's blood.

So, our dear hero began to work. He spent hours in the local library stacking and checking out books, missed out on parties by raking out neighbors' lawns.

And then, on the January twelfth of the year he turned sixteen- he walked to the music store with three hundred and eighty dollars in his hands and a proud smile on his face.

Why are we talking about Zayn's obsession with guitars anyways?

It is to tell you that our boy was a very, very determined person.

And right now, Zayn was determined to be content with his life for once. That was why he wanted to leave his old life way behind him, and start a new one.

It's never too late for new beginnings.

He wanted to see new things, meet new people, do crazy shit that he never thought he would ever be able to do. Maybe on the way he'd discover who he really was.

Zayn smirked at his own thoughts, realizing how stupid he sounded. He already knew who he was. But he just didn't like what he was.

Zayn let out a sigh, fixing the collar of his shirt, looking around the taxi he was currently in.

He was going to the airport, not even bothering going back home. He hardly had anything with him- only the clothes he was wearing, his wallet, his credit card and his passport. That was more than enough for what Zayn had in mind.

But what did he have in mind? He shrugged, resting his head back on the seat. He'll decide later.

Zayn looked out of the window to see that he was nearing his destination- the JFK International Airport.

He had been here before. He knew what to do and he knew where to go. Two years of office conferences and meetings in different cities and countries had given him experience.