The next morning, I woke up feeling disoriented, my fever still lingering in my body, leaving me weak and sluggish. I groggily blinked my eyes open, expecting the silence of my empty room to greet me. Instead, my heart nearly stopped when I saw Zayn sitting in the chair by my bed, a bowl of porridge in his hands, his eyes fixed on me like he had been watching me sleep. For a split second, I thought it was some kind of feverish dream.
But no. This was real.
I bolted upright, rubbing my eyes in disbelief, half-expecting him to disappear. But he didn't. He was really here, and I had no idea how or why.
"How... how did you get in here?" My voice was shaky, still hoarse from sleep.
"I was about to break the door down when you didn't answer my calls," Zayn replied casually, as if this was something he did all the time. "But then I was shocked to see the door wasn't locked."
I groaned inwardly, remembering how I had been so out of it the night before that I must have forgotten to lock the door after stumbling back to my dorm. Great. Just perfect. Now Zayn had somehow taken that as an invitation to break into my room.
I glanced at my phone, realizing it was past 10 a.m. I had slept way too long, and I was supposed to be at class.
"Why aren't you in class?" I asked, feeling my frustration build.
"Not more important than you," he said smoothly, flashing a smirk that made my skin crawl.
I flinched at the blatant cringe in his voice. Why did he always have to say things like that? He was toying with me, enjoying the way his words unsettled me.
Without replying, I dragged myself out of bed, heading to the bathroom to freshen up. I didn't want to deal with him right now, but I couldn't exactly kick him out either, not when I was still feeling this sick. My head throbbed, and the fever clung to me like a second skin.
When I came out of the bathroom, Zayn was still sitting there, watching me like I was some kind of project he needed to study. I ignored him and sat down on the edge of my bed, picking up the bowl of porridge. I didn't want to acknowledge the fact that he had brought it for me, but I was too hungry and weak to care right now.
"Thank you," I muttered, not looking at him as I started eating.
The silence between us felt heavy, like there were a thousand unspoken words hanging in the air. I could feel his gaze on me, and no matter how much I tried to focus on the food, I couldn't stop my mind from wandering. What was Zayn really doing here? Why was he so fixated on me? The more I thought about it, the more I realized how suffocating his presence had become.
He was everywhere.
"Listen," I finally said, putting the spoon down and glancing up at him. "Don't waste your time on me. Just... focus on your future or something."
But of course, Zayn being Zayn, he didn't take the hint. Instead, he grinned like I had just said something amusing. "You are my future, sweet pie," he said, winking as he gave me that cocky smile.
I rolled my eyes, feeling the irritation rise in my chest. "Oh God..." I groaned, placing the bowl on the table beside me and reaching for the medicine. I swallowed the pills, desperate for something—anything—that would make me feel better.
"I mean it, Zayn. You can go now. I need to rest." I was trying to sound firm, but my voice came out weaker than I intended. I didn't have the energy to argue with him, not right now.
He stood up, a hint of reluctance in his eyes, but he didn't push it. "Alright, but I'll come by tonight to check on you."
"No need," I said quickly, trying to sound dismissive. I just wanted peace and I need to figure out how to get out of this tangled mess.
Zayn gave me a knowing look, like he didn't believe a word I was saying. "We'll see," he said before turning and leaving my room, the door closing softly behind him.
As soon as he was gone, I let out a long breath, sinking back into my bed. My body ached with exhaustion, but my mind wouldn't stop racing. How did I end up here? How did Zayn manage to invade every corner of my life so effortlessly? He was always there, pushing boundaries, making himself a part of my world even when I tried to shut him out.
I buried my face in the pillow, hoping for some kind of clarity, but none came. The room felt too quiet now, and my thoughts swirled with confusion. Part of me wanted to believe Zayn wasn't as bad as I had initially thought, but the other part of me—the part that knew better—screamed for me to keep my distance.
His possessiveness was suffocating, and I knew if I wasn't careful, I'd end up trapped in his world, unable to break free. But how could I end this? How could I push him away when he kept finding ways to pull me back in?
I closed my eyes, my body heavy with fever and exhaustion. I didn't have the answers, but I knew one thing: this couldn't continue. I had to find a way to stop this, to put an end to whatever it was Zayn thought was happening between us.
---
The rest of the day was an exhausting blur, my body battling the fever that left me feeling both feverish and hollow. Every time I closed my eyes, I was haunted by images of Zayn—his touch, his voice, his intense gaze. It was as if he had wormed his way into my subconscious, refusing to leave me in peace even in my dreams.
By evening, my fever had finally started to break, but the physical relief didn't bring much comfort. My mind was still restless, consumed with thoughts of Zayn and this strange, manipulative game we were playing. I grabbed my phone, scrolling aimlessly through social media, hoping to distract myself from the internal chaos.
And then, just as I was about to drift off into a much-needed nap, my phone buzzed.
**Zayn:** *Be there in five minutes.*
I groaned out loud, rubbing my temples in frustration. Was he serious?
**Me:** *No thanks. My fever has settled down.*
A few seconds later, the familiar typing bubbles appeared on my screen.
**Zayn:** *Then start taking class.*
I stared at the message, half-amused and half-annoyed. He was relentless, like a dog with a bone. He couldn't even give me one evening of peace to recover. What a jerk.
Reluctantly, I grabbed my textbook and opened the door, expecting to see no one there and maybe scold myself for even falling into his game. But to my surprise, Zayn was standing there, holding a container of soup, looking as casual and smug as ever.
I raised an eyebrow at him.
Zayn didn't bother with pleasantries. He just walked right past me, straight into my room without permission, and set the soup on my study table. "Let's eat," he said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
I rolled my eyes, sitting back at my desk. "Zayn, I mean it—you don't have to keep doing this."
He flashed me a smirk. "You want me to cancel your lessons? I could do that. Or you could eat and be nice to me."
There it was—his typical blackmail. He knew I couldn't afford to miss more of the classes I had signed up for, and he was using that fact to worm his way back into my life. Part of me wanted to throw the soup out the window just to spite him. But another part—the part that was exhausted and sick and just didn't have the energy to fight—gave in.
"Fine," I muttered, picking up the spoon and digging into the soup. "Thanks."
The word came out grudgingly, and I refused to look at him as I ate. I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of seeing me give in. But of course, Zayn being Zayn, he didn't leave it at that.
He sat across from me, watching me eat with that stupid smirk on his face. "You know," he said after a minute, "you can pretend all you want, but I can tell you don't hate having me around."
I stopped mid-bite, glaring at him. "Your presence is suffocating, Zayn."
He leaned in, his voice lowering slightly. "Liar. My presence is tempting you, and you know it."
I set the bowl down, frustration bubbling up inside me. "You're unbelievable."
Zayn chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the effect he was having on me. But then, something unexpected happened. I reached for the spoon again, and as I moved, a strand of my hair fell forward, obscuring my view. Before I could brush it away, Zayn reached over and gently tucked the hair behind my ear. His fingers grazed my skin for the briefest of moments, and suddenly, the room felt too quiet, too close.
I froze, staring at him, my heart pounding in the silence.
Zayn didn't say a word. He just smiled, stood up, and walked out of the room, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts and the deafening sound of my own heartbeat.
For several long minutes after he left, I sat there, staring at the closed door, trying to make sense of what had just happened. I hated him. I hated his arrogance, his manipulation, his ability to get under my skin without even trying. But there was something else, something that scared me even more.