Chapter 1
Zayn’s POV
I had just buried her.
Standing by her grave, rain soaking through my clothes, I stared at the date carved into the stone. I felt nothing. Not grief, not anger—just emptiness. Whatever emotions I had left, I buried with her.
Leaving me here was the cruelest thing she ever did.
I glanced at her grave one last time before walking away.
On my way back to the penthouse, I pulled over near a quiet park. For a moment, I didn’t want walls or silence—I wanted the sky. I sat on a bench, staring upwards, wishing I could feel something. Anything. But I couldn’t. All I felt was the hollow ache of escape. Running from pain had become the only thing I knew how to do.
“Can I sit here?”
The voice was soft, gentle. It pulled me out of my thoughts.
“The seat’s occupied, beautiful,” I muttered, eyes still fixed on the sky.
“But I can’t see anyone sitting here,” she replied, her tone as delicate as her words.
I finally looked at her, my charcoal-grey eyes meeting hers, though mine carried no emotion. “Then maybe you don’t mind finding another bench. I’d like some personal space.” My voice was low, almost harsh.
She tilted her head slightly, her voice firmer this time. “My bad. But let me clarify, mister—this is a public park. You can’t claim personal space here. And there aren’t many benches left.”
And with that, she walked away, half annoyed, half defiant.
Strangely, I didn’t feel angry at her boldness. Not this time. Instead, I just got up and left. The night ahead would be long enough to keep me company. I knew that eventually, I would have to act normal again. Pretend. That’s what people do, after all.
Humans can act. And that’s what I would do too.
Two Months Later
“Zayn, you need to go for a check-up!” Ethan’s voice cracked with urgency. “I’m not asking—I’m telling you. This is the third time you’ve vomited blood.”
Zayn wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s nothing. Just food poisoning,” he muttered, splashing water on his face.
“Don’t lie to me!” Ethan snapped. His fists trembled at his sides. “Tell me you’re not doing this on purpose.”
Zayn dried his hands slowly, too casually. “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said flatly.
That was the breaking point. Ethan lunged forward, grabbing his collar and slamming him against the wall.
“You know damn well what I’m talking about!” His voice was raw, desperate. His fist landed hard on Zayn’s jaw, blood smearing across his lip.
“Since the day you buried her, you’ve been killing yourself—smoking, skipping meals, never sleeping. You think this is living? You think this is what she would’ve wanted?” Ethan’s eyes burned with grief as his fist shook in the air.
He punched him again, then shoved him back. “If you want to die, then stop dragging it out. Stop making me watch you waste away!”
With trembling hands, Ethan stormed out, leaving Zayn bleeding and breathless against the cold wall.
