Chiller (harry styles)

19: Symphony Of Dark

There is no sunshine coming through the windows of the door at the end of the hall, and yet I am blinded. It's like my eyes are being invaded by what is good, and I cannot see to see. I stare down at my feet as I walk to my locker to get my books for music class, my mind slowly pushing away the weird bliss that threatens me. I nearly lose the aspects of the combination, I feel so compltely withdrawn. After finally recalling it and my composure, I quicky get the textbook and binder. But just as I am about to shut the door something to cause me to be late occurs. My jacket catches on the locker next to mine, and I try to jerk it free. Unfortunately, it doesn't even budge. I'm so sick of everything. I'm having an awful day already, and it's barely nine in the morning. I woke up to a curious Villie who wouldn't stop swearing up and down she heard a motorcycle in the middle of last night, and then a crazy best friend who won't stop asking me what happened, if I remember anything, and if I'm okay. I know part of Alarja is just worrying about me, but most of her is just nosy.

Soft laughter is heard behind me, and I turn to face a rosy cheeked boy wearing a green sweater vest and large black glasses. The sweater reminds me of Harry's pretty eyes, and that causes me to smile. This guy is carrying about three advanced placement books, pretty impressive for this day in age, and when I look up his eyes are bright with amusement.

"Could you use some help?" He asks politely.

I blush slightly, nod, and allow him to work at unlatching my jacket. He gets it in no time, and I thank him for his kind act.

"It's no problem, really. This is my locker, anyway." He says, smiling at me.

I can't help but smile back.

"My name's Zayn, by the way. I've seen you around before. You're friends with Alarja Vega, right? I used to have math with her. She always copied off me. Great girl though, very pretty and nice. Oh, and another thing, I like your jacket. It's very...magical." He says to me in a slow rush, and I smile warmly at him.

My jacket is one of those colorful, sparkly types that cost around seventy dollars when they're on sale. And Zayn doesn't seem like the type of guy to notice nor like things such as that, but that's why I immediately like him. He complimented me anyway. It makes things less awkward and more comfortable.

"I'm Tahlia Eyre, it's nice to meet you. Thank you so much. I'm glad you like my jacket and my friend." I tell him, and we both crack up with laughter.

"So, what class do you have next, Tahlia?" Zayn asks me as he shuts his locker.

I smile at him, and begin to walk beside him down the hallway. He never even pestered me over my last name.

"Something called History Of Rock 'N Roll." I tell him, placing my finger on my chin and tapping.

He laughs a little.

"Really? That's funny. My class is right next door to that one. Maybe we could walk together." He suggests, shrugging.

I smile. We already are, but I decide not to say anything because he looks so content right now.

We walk together in peace as he tells me a funny story about Alarja almost getting caught cheating off his final.

I laugh as he does her expression, and picture her face doing it. It's actually pretty funny in my mind. Eventually we reach the classes and part our ways, and I find myself thinking if I ever run into Zayn again, I won't be disappointed.

***

The beat of I Am The Walrus by The Beatles is playing loudly as I enter the classroom, everyone nodding their heads to it in a sliding motion of pure symphony. I find my seat in the front, and watch the video intently as it plays one of my favorite tunes of all time. The seat to me dips down, and I turn to see a boy who I assume is new. His hair is nearly white and he has a piercing in his ear which hangs low, gleaming a dark silver. He's wearing a plain shirt without sleeves, THE WHO plastered across it in bright letters. Oh, he must have known we were learning about the British Invasion. I look over at him and smile, my hand extending out to greet him.