Maybe

(Niall and Zayn)
When bestfriends Simran & Mollie meet two boys on the tube, will something more become of it? Or will heartbreak be the only thing left?

Maybe.

Will their past change the future? Will their future affect the present?

Maybe.

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19. My camouflaged rose will always be the brightest in the garden

***Simmie's POV***

I am insanely protective over anything that's mine. Especially Mollie.

I entangle myself Zayn's arms, remorsefully, no words come out of my mouth as I run across the apartment. Barging into Mollie's room, the door hitting the wall, Mollie bombards me with a hug. Wrapping my arms around her waist; she keeps her arms close to her chest, her hands clasped together under her chin as if she was praying.

"Mollie, sweetie, what happened?" I asked soothingly, my hand moving up to stroke her hair.

A beat goes by and she doesn't answer so I glare at Niall, sitting on her bed with his ankles crossed, like he had all the time in the world.

"What did you do to her?" I growl at him, holding Mollie closer.

Feeling Zayn come to stand in the door way, his body leaning against the doorjamb, I feel him take the scene in, biting back a laugh but with a grin creeping across his face. He looks at his feet to hide it but I saw it. It's the posters, It's quite comical, coming to think about it. But he made my baby sister scream and I want answers. She's mine and if he hurts her, I don't care who he is, I'll rip him a new one. He puts his hands up in surrender,

"I didn't do anything."

He says, confusion running across his face. His pleading eyes look at Mollie. As if she can feel his eyes, she whispers into my collarbone,

"I thought it was all a dream."

She pushes her head back so she can look up at me. Her eyes are full of unshed tears and I'm tempted to go glare at Niall before ripping him a new one.

"Niall, if your free, would you like to spend the day?"

She turns her head nervously and whispers it, her eyes dropping down. I stare at her, disbelief written on my face.

"Zayn can stay too."

She adds making a small gesture to acknowledge the fact Zayn was here.

"Of course we'll stay. We could go out for brunch together. I need to get clothes for today though, so can we stop by our apartment?"

Mollie nods her agreement whilst I look at Zayn, confirming he'll stay the day. That sorted, I smile at Mollie and plant a kiss on her forehead. Releasing her from my death grip, I walk out the door, barely knocking Zayn as I tell him to come back to the kitchen. I need my tea.

***

After we'd finished our tea (finally), I decided to dry my hair and put it back up again. Walking into my room, I leave the door open so Zayn follows behind me. I open my black and red curtains, the same ones Mollie has, just in gold, and sunlight chases my bed. My room is pretty much like Mollies. I just have red instead of gold and no One Direction posters. We do have the same furniture except her's is white and mine is black. Same with the rug. We have the same laminate, dark-brown-almost-black wood. A window seat, except hers in buried under so many pillows. She keeps all her guitars there but I keep all my instruments (i.e my black ukulele) by the balcony doors. Every space in my room is full of bookshelves. And books. I really love reading. All around the room; where-ever there's some wall space, goes a bookshelf and a million books.

Turning back around, something catches my eye on bed. Moving towards it, I pick up a note and a black rose.

'My camouflaged rose will always be the brightest in the garden. Z xo'

I look for Zayn in the doorway but he isn't there. As I feel his arms snake around me, I smile, turning my head to look up at him. His mouth descends on mine, for a quick peck. Once again, untangling arms I push him on the bed and he laughs. Walking over to my dresser, I turn the hair dryer on and dry my hair. I see Zayn sitting cross legged on my bed in my mirrors reflection. As I reach for my hairbrush and brush my hair, he gets off the bed and gently walks towards me. Taking the brush from my hands, he carries off from where I left off, brushing my curly hair down. Our eyes meet in the mirror, and we both know this intimate gesture isn't lost on either of us. When he's finished, he returns the brush back to its place on my dresser, next to my hair dryer and my straighteners. Moving forward, I smile my thanks in the mirror and he smiles sheepishly back; his eyes looking down again and his hands going in his pockets. Pushing my almost-dry curly hair into a ponytail, I decide not to straighten it. When I'm finished, Zayn takes my hand and leads me into the kitchen/living room area.

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