3 ??Why are handsome boys jerks??? (2/2)

I shook my head, clearing my teen thoughts and lifted my face to look up up up.

Fire lit up in the pits of my belly and began burning my heart. I was sure I wasn't breathing. Memories from my childhood came crashing back to me and I felt like falling to the ground and sobbing.

And apologizing.

I had a lot of that to do as well.

But Zayn stared at me with blank eyes. Those beautiful eyes I loved looking into in our alone time had no emotion. It was like he was dead.

I knew it had something to do with me. I had just–Crap, I had just—

”Watch where you're going,” He spit out, not even bothering to look at me.

It was like a slap to the face.

I'd recognize you anywhere, sweetness.

Yet, he hadn't. I was all grown up now, I knew that. The last time we'd seen each other, I was ten and he was a little over eleven.

My eyes scanned his face and then down to his body. He had filled out in all the right places—broad shoulders, thick, muscular arms and thighs—oh yes, I noticed the thighs. Gone was the baby skin and in place of it was a bronze, rugged face with all hard planes and sharp cheekbones and a dark stubble that made him the most gorgeous male I had ever seen.

”Did you not hear me?” He barked and I jumped out of my skin.

I was staring. Crap, I was staring at a non-mahram male. I quickly stepped aside and turned my gaze elsewhere, muttering apologies to God.

”Zayn, man,” I saw some guy patting him on the shoulder. ”Where have you been? I was looking for . . .” His eyes fell on me and he snickered. ”And who are you?”

”It doesn't talk,” Zayn told him, as unkind as his friend.

Hurt slammed into me and I could hear the constant crashing of my heart against my ribcage as I died a little from the inside.

All men are the same, mummy's voice crept into my head. They're good to you until they have no use of you and then throw you away like trash.

But Zayn—my Zayn—had never been like that.

Beneath the dark, broody guy was the sweetest, kindest person I had ever met in my life. He helped me when no one else did and he was there to hold me when I cried because of my parent's fights. He talked to me about everything, told me stuff he had never shared with anyone else. He was . . . simply the most loyal friend I'd ever had.

I had left without a word. In his worst time, I was the one who wasn't there to hold him when he fell apart.

No amount of therapy could remove my self-loathing for all that I'd done to him.

There wasn't even a way to fix it. We weren't children anymore and in Islam, men and women could never be just friends.

I'd also just had very unfriendly thoughts about him earlier . . .

And now he was being rude. He called me an 'it'. Seriously, when had people's sense of humour changed so much?

His friend threw his head back and roared with laughter. ”Oh man . . . I wonder how long she'll keep standing there. She must be fascinated with English. Tell me, girl, do you understand a word we're saying? Nah, probably not.”

I had to clench my hands tightly so that I wouldn't smack him right across the jaw. I bit my tongue, trying hard not to reply.

But I had to. I just had to.

I pressed a hand to my chest in mock offence. ”Is that an American accent I detect? I wonder where you caught it from since,”—I shot him a hard glare—”I'm pretty sure you were born and raised in Pakistan, Zeeshan Ali Khan.”

He licked his lips, unable to hold my gaze. It was a shame such beauty was wasted on a guy like him. He scoffed and then stepped closer to me.

Instinct told me to flinch back but I'd be damned if I let a guy intimidate me. If I let anyone make me feel bad just because I was different.

”How long do you think you'll survive here, huh?” His face was getting too close to mine and I wasn't sure how long I could keep my spine straight. I could already feel my knees trembling and that was never a good sign. Soon I would . . . No, I wasn't going to think about that. ”With that thing on, I'd take a quick guess and say . . .” He brought his hand to my face as though he would forcefully take off my veil and this time I did move back. ”Not a second.”

”Don't you dare invade my personal space again,” I warned, wanting to split his pretty face into two.

He laughed at that, as though it was a joke. He looked back at Zayn as he carelessly stood back, watching uncaringly. ”Did you hear that, Z? Girl thinks we'll allow her to wear something like that in our school. Heck, if it were up to me, I'd ban this black thing in the entire world.”

As if I cared what he thought of me. Or what his prodigious ambitions were. ”You'll make a great corrupt politician one day. Congratulations.” I moved to leave but he grabbed my arm.

”Don't you dare touch me or I'll break your nose!”

He looked surprised. As though going around touching people against their will was totally okay. As though he had never gotten this reaction before.

He quickly regained himself. ”Where did you think you were going?”

I pointed a thumb towards the campus building and spoke in a 'duh' manner. ”I have a class to attend, if you'd allow me.”

Before he could say anything, another boy joined us, slapping Zayn and Zeeshan on the shoulder. It was nearly impossible to recognize Anas Wahab—another one of the many guys that were in my class since pre-school—with the nose and ear piercings and chains around his neck.

Why was it always the jerks that were gorgeous-looking?

And the trio seemed like close friends although they'd barely ever talked back when I was with Zayn. We were inseparable and nobody could ever understand us the way we understood each other.

My eyes begged to see Zayn again and because I knew it was wrong, I denied them the view. It was better this way.

Taking off my veil wasn't going to end well.

Of that much I was sure.

But it was time.

And I wasn't ready.