Her eyes. The way they would crinkle when she smiled. Her full eyelashes framing those beautiful light blue eyes.
I’ll be right back.
Her nose. The way it would bunch up when she laughed. Her supple red lips stretched back to show her perfect teeth and those cute little dimples.
It’s just to the store. I won’t be gone long.
Her hands. How flawlessly they fit into his. Her nails always a different color than the day before.
Stop worrying so much, you’ll wrinkle that pretty face of yours.
He couldn’t stop the loop of memories in his brain. Couldn’t stop them from making the pain worse. Couldn’t stop the fresh onslaught of hot tears to his eyes.
We’re out of milk, I have to go and get some now or we’ll regret it later.
It was supposed to be a quick trip.
Ten minutes. That’s how long it would have taken.
Zayn was crouched on the floor in his living room, his hands pulling at his hair. He tried to push the last memory down, not wanting to relive it again, but it pushed through anyway.
“Zayn stop!” She giggled as she ran away from his tickling fingers.
But she wasn’t fast enough. Zayn wrapped his arms around his wife’s torso, holding her close to him and placed a kiss to her neck. “Gotcha,” He whispered lightly biting her ear.
She snuggled up against his chest, loving these sweet moments. “Now don’t you start what you can’t finish Mr. Malik,” She turned in Zayn’s arms, wrapping her arms around his neck.
He couldn’t help the small growl in the back of his throat at the sight of her biting her plump red lower lip. Even after six years he couldn’t help himself whenever she was around. “And when I have ever not finished, Mrs. Malik?” He retorted back, chuckling at the deep blush on her cheeks.
She rolled her eyes at him, leaning in and kissing him on the lips. “Come on, we have to make those cookies for the party tomorrow.” She walked into the kitchen dragging Zayn with her.
“And by ‘we’ you mean you bake and I supervise, right?” He leaned against the kitchen island, folding his arms across his chest.
She laughed, her eyes sparkling as she opened the fridge. “Damn, we’re out of milk.”
Zayn watched as she pulled on a pair of shoes and a sweater and grabbed her purse. He jumped in front of her, holding her shoulders back. “No, babe I’ll go and get it. You stay here.”
“It’s just to the store. I’ll be right back.”
“It’s a little late, I would feel better if I went.”
She scoffed and pulled her hands up to cradle her husband’s face. “Hun, it’s fine, really. I would personally feel safer if you stayed here and held down the fort. We’re out of milk, I have to go get some now or we’ll regret it later.”
Zayn pouted and pulled her closer, pressing his forehead to hers. She chuckled and lightly brushed her lips against his. “Stop worrying so much, you’ll wrinkle that pretty face of yours. And I’d quite like to keep my hubby handsome, if you don’t mind.”
“I love you,” Zayn laughed and hugged her tight, stealing a few kisses before letting her walk out the door.
She didn’t come back though. An hour and a half later he got a call from the ER at the local hospital. She had been hit by a drunk driver on her way back.
They couldn’t save her.
He had thrown his phone at the wall, hearing it shatter to pieces as he sank to the floor. He was a blubbering mess as he practically pulled out his hair, wanting to turn back time… needing to hold her one more time.
“Daddy?” A small voice rang out through the pain, making Zayn’s head whip around to see his two little girls, Amira and Samina, at the foot of the stairs.
“Daddy, what’s wrong?”
Okay, so I had a flash of inspiration the other night and just HAD to write this. I quite like the way it ended, and don't mind keeping it as a ONE-SHOT. :) I can continue it, if that's what people tell me they want. But you have to tell me! :)
P.S Amira means 'Princess' and Samina means 'Precious' in Arabic. (I'm pretty sure it's Arabic, please correct me if I am wrong.)