The Ghost Counselor [Ziall] [MAJOR EDITING]

40~ Memory.

(unedited)

NIALL'S POV

Dropping down on the ledge of the club's rooftop, I pulled my legs up, leaning my chin on my knees. I sighed softly as the gentle breeze combed through my hair, almost caressing me as if in a comforting gesture.

My mind was still in tatters. I still couldn't grasp Josh's betrayal and I couldn't decide what I was exactly feeling. One one hand I was glad this happened and I didn't have to break up with Josh because my feelings for him were long gone, but on the the other hand, he fucking cheated on me! Lied to me! That was going to take a while to get over.

And on top of that, I had close to no idea on how to approach Zayn and make him remember me again.

But what even is there for Zayn to remember? In this fucked up timeline, Zayn and have never even met. And who knows if we even will?

This was what I had been waiting for after I had died. Getting my life back, just the way I left it. If I'd never met Zayn in the first place, I would have been down there, celebrating. Or maybe I would still be here, moping over Josh's cheating, which would have hurt a hundred times more if I still wasn't hopelessly in love with Zayn Malik.

My throat burned as I supressed the tear, glaring up at the starry sky, and hopefully at the higher powers up there, who think they did a fucking awesome job in fixing everything, when they just ruined my life.

I wish they could have brought me back alive in 2014, but Molly told me then it would have gotten messy. But I didn't give a fuck about that. I would have had Zayn with me then!

I then registered I was sitting on a rooftop, and my mind flashed with the memory of Zayn and I on his rooftop, after our first attempt at a date, when Zayn had said to me that the little time that we'd had together, he's cherish it forever. It felt like ages ago, but I could still remember every kiss, every touch in crystal detail. The way Zayn rested his head in the crook of my neck, the way our fingers were intwined.

Why? Why doesn't Zayn remember? Why couldn't I forget? Why torture me like this? Why didn't those assholes wipe my mind clean before throwing me back?

I glared at the night sky a few rogue tears escaped, cascading down my cheeks, and I wished more than ever that I could have Zayn right by my side, leaning his head against my shoulder, our legs tangled, on a rooftop because rooftops were our sanctuary.

I didn't care anymore. I broke down then  sobs of frustrations slipping past my lips, hot tears rolling down my cheek.

"Uh, mate. You okay?" A concerned voice asked in the dark, and I froze. I thought was absolutely alone on the club's rooftop, guess not. I blinked my eyes free from the blurry tears, now noticing the guy leaning against the wall in the far distance, a glowing cigarette dangling between his fingers.

I wiped my cheeks. "Y-yeah. I'm good," I croaked, hoping the guy would leave. But of course, when has anything ever gone my way? The guy threw his fag to the ground, crushing it under his foot. He then unsurely walked over to me, as he finally dropped down on the ledge, his feet dangling, a far distance away from me.

I looked up from my hands, and glanced towards the cigarette guy to kindly ask him to give me some privacy, but my voice caught in my throat.

I took in Zayn's perfect face, silhouetted perfectly by the moonlight.

I was about to stutter in shock but caught myself in time, my mind racing a mile a minute. I can't let Zayn know that I'm in love with him. He must already think I'm creepy from confronting him this morning. Now this was my chance to start fresh.