It Was Meant To Be

Molly dreams of two things: getting into her first-choice university and finding true love. Music-loving slacker Zayn also dreams of two things:winning the battle of the bands- and winning Molly.He is determined to make her fall in love with him.


2. I Think I'm Falling!

I Think I'm Falling!


1 September, 9.14 p.m



Zayn's POV


  Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my life.


  I finish the first set of reps with my 5 kg weights. I examine my biceps for signs of bulk. I decide to keep on thinking that they are huge. At least they were huge compared to how they used to be. I started to work out on the last day of school in attempt to improve the situation of my match-stick arms. I need to look good onstage when my band starts playing serious gigs this year. Everyone knows girls want a guy to be fit, massive biceps, six-pack and all..


But I get distracted.


I do three more sets of fifteen reps and look at my arms again. Definite improvement. I do a hundred sit-ups and fifty press ups and saunter into the bathroom like I'm the strongest man ever.But this façade shatters when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.


I usually avoid the mirror as much as possible. I somehow developed an insane hope that working out would also improve my face. I always get zits in the most annoying places, and the fluorescent bulbs in here make me look burnt out like I smoke 10 packs a day. Attractive.


Furious, I get into the shower. I should have called her over the summer. Yeah, right. To hear how loudly she would have laughed at the prospect of such a slacker asking her out? No,the way to go with this is to be friends with her first.Be charming and notice details and give her tons of attention. Girls like that. Then she won't be able to resist me when we take it to the next level.


I turn off the shower and grab a towel. I'll finally see her tomorrow. Should I try talking to her right away? Or would that look desperate?


I need to calm down.


Back in my room, I chuck my towel on the floor with many other shirts and pull on a pair of boxers. I wonder if she's into boxers or briefs. Or boxer briefs. Cynthia was a fan of the boxer briefs, but other girls I've pulled didn't seem to have an opinion. Then again, Cynthia was the only one I had sex with. So maybe boxer briefs are my safest bet.


I peer into my drawer at all my old underwear. If I were seeing my underwear for the first time, what would I think? It all looks kind of damged. Do I need to get underwear? I hate having to ask my mum to buy it for me. Everyone wears undderwear, but it's humiliating to admit this fact to your mother. Even if she does was them.


Suddenly I have an amazing idea. I can buy my own underwear! She doesn't have to know anything! Why haven't I thought of this before? Why haven't I never thought of this before?  I haven't had a car long enough to realize that I can go around and do this type of stuff.


Are relationships always complicated?


Technically, Cynthia wasn't my girlfriend. So I don't exactly consider what we had a relationship.It was all about SEX. We didn't even have that much in common except that we fancied the pant off each other.Which was fine with me, until I got sick of the lack of emotion. My friends don't get it. How I'm a complete normal when it comes to girls. i mean, I've pulled random airhead groupie types. But nothing ever lasted more than a couple of months. They were so boring.


I know what I'm looking for. Something that feels right. Something R-E-A-L.


I dig through the pile of converse in my closet, old guitar equipment that I got at a garage sales, and stacks of magazines until I reach the shoe box.The shoe box that was full of my most personal stuff. I lean back against the wall and slowly open the box, I feel a rush of excitement as I see all my old stuff again. I pick up my first guitar pick, remembering how it felt to finally know how to use it. There's an E-string that broke during our first band rehearsal in 2nd year. I keep all the songs I wrote about girls and sex in here, in a smaller notebook separate from my main notebook because my mum doesn't have a problem with going through my bag and reading everything she sees. I've told her millions of times that it is a mothers duty to respect her kids privacy.


I turn to the page with the song I wrote for her. It's like she's renting all the real estate in the girl department of my brain. I don't even know her that well, even though we have gone through school together. After splitting us up on how smart they thought we were, I didn't see her again until we had art together last year. I didn't have the guts to talk to her until the year was almost over and then I heard she was going out with Scott, who is a total arsehole, but still. So I never asked her out. There's something about her that's totally different from other girls. She really smart. I love that. And she's kind of shy. Not like the other girls I have dated who came right up to me and bluntly asked me out. Talking to those girls is easy. But talking to Molly is impossible. Not only is she smart, but she's also hot. The best kind of girl you can get.


What if I use this song for Battle of the Bands? I could dedicate it to her. She'll be so turned on. Then I will smile and dazzle her with my eyes. Girls have always said I had the most amazing eyes. But Battle of the Bands isn't till November and I can't wait that long.


i put my notebook back in my shoe box and stashed it to the back of my wardrobe. I put some magazines on top of it and then pile some random shoes against it.


I get an adrenaline rush, like I could play for hours. I call this my hot zone. When I am in the hot zone I know I can do some phenomenal stuff.


I pick up my guitar and turn the amp down. My parents are probably asleep. I guess some people actually have a life. I assume my parents were madly in love at some point, but now they just look tired all the time. I don't want to settle for that.


I jam on my guitar. The way I feel about Molly right now is the way I always want to feel.


I'm making it happen. Tomorrow!

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