Shape of me✔️

Zayn Malik?

S H A P E OF M E
The shovel scraped and creased the soft snow as I huffed and pushed away in the minus nine degrees biting cold. Freezing wind currents slapped me up and down the face with the feeling like that of having water kept in the fridge poured on my poor head.

Surprisingly, I had a stupid smile on my face. It made no sense, but I was as happy as a penguin—if penguins were actually happy. I thought them more to be miserable because of the murderous cold down in the North pole.

Anyway, that was far from the point. The point was I was smiling, which is a thing I hardly did as most times I looked like a vampire hungry for blood.

To be honest, I did not enjoy winter wholeheartedly and neither did I have profound gratitude running through me for its existence as I did for autumn. But I still couldn't say I hated it. It was one of my favourite seasons taking into consideration the fact that I hardly liked anything.

Miss Willoughby or Willough as she preferred me calling was the main reason I survived winter. When it snowed, I got to visit her to help with shovelling her snow.

She was my knightess in shining apron and she did more than just saving me from my family; she also made great cookies and treats which were my inspirations for baking. They tasted like heaven. True story.

Three blocks away from my house, her house sat contentedly yet almost solitarily on a quiet street. It was a beautiful house, not too big and not too small. Just right. I however could never understand how she was able to live alone as I always thought she was lonely.

Well, I never understood how I was able to survive in my house so who was I to judge?

Miss Willough's house was a bungalow with a garage behind it which had a driveway that spanned maybe just a little too long. The pain of shovelling snow during the winter could not be explained in mere words.

My favourite part of the building remained the flowers that grew on hedges; well trimmed and enclosed by a fence that bordered the house from the road and other houses near-by. They gave the house an exotic look.

I loved inhaling the scents of the different plants while ignoring my lack of knowledge of their names. I was too embarrassed to ask their names and too lazy to remember every time I was told. Miss Willough on the other hand did not seem to care as she made sure to repeat them to me whenever I visited.

Sometimes I wondered how Miss Willough was in her early years. Was she ever insecure? Did she ever hate herself for who she was? Was she ever like...me?

I looked up to her as one of my advanced-in-age role-models. At almost 70, she was still as lively and busy as a bee. The fact that she was diabetic never changed her attitude towards life. In fact, she saw that as more reason to be happy, and I loved that about her a lot. She never gave anyone room or reason to pity her.

After Mami found out that Miss Willough was sick, she allowed me to come visit her regularly; mostly on the weekends which was and still is the best time of the week for me. In my opinion, her house was one of the few places I could never get tired of, or even think of getting tired of visiting.

You might be wondering why I call Miss Willough 'miss'. Well, since she lost her husband, she chose to have everyone call her 'miss' or just by her name.

Knowing where I came from and how I was raised, I could not bring myself to call her by her name whether or not she wanted it so. 'Miss' had to do it for me as she wouldn't answer to 'aunty'.

Miss Willough was not your average 68 year old woman. Honestly, I often saw her as a bad influence–advising me to do things that may seem daring to normal people and murderous to my mum.