Poetry - Zayn Malik Fanfiction

Zayn Malik. He's sweet and caring. Never would he hurt a soul. That's his cover. His dirty past is built of lies and destruction. He finds a girl, a girl by the name of Noel. What keeps them sane? Poetry.

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1. "Be yourself, everyone else is already taken"

"Be yourself, everyone else is already taken." -Oscar Wilde

"Finally, I can go to sleep," Noel mumbled, shrugging off her jacket as she crawled under the covers. Today was her last day of high school, and now she was free. Finally free

Noel was a teenager, an ordinary teenager. She was a brunette and had sparkling brown eyes. As a kid she grew up in America, but in her senior year moved to Bradford. She lived with her room mate, Sasha, who was also her best friend. 

Noel wasn't completely normal though. She had a dedication to poetry. She would go to Rêve de Café, a small coffee shop at the corner of the block. She went there because everyday poets recited their works. The shop let anybody read their poems, no matter how bad or how good. But Noel, she was too shy to speak. She just listened. 

* * *

The next morning, Noel found herself twisted in a mass of blankets and covers, but still, it was the best sleep she'd had in months. 

Knock knock knock, sounded from outside her bedroom door. She knew it was Sasha.

"Come in," Noel said, waving an arm in the air. The door opened, and Sasha came in, pulling open the blinds. Morning light flooded into the room, making Noel put a hand over her eyes. Her red hair was pulled up messily into a bun, and a crop-top was hung off one of her shoulders. She had always been the more fashionable one of the two.

"Why are you still sleeping?" she yanked her dark purple blanket off her.

"Because it's summer, I can sleep," Noel said, pulling the white pillow over her head.

"Well, get your ass up. I wanted to do something fun today."

Noel swung her legs over the side of the bed, and stood up, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Her brown hair was matted and tangled, sprawling out across her shoulders. Her shirt scrunched up at the stomach; she pulled it down.

"I was going to go to Rêve de Café," Noel said. She was now brushing her hair, sitting on her vanity table. That was the third piece of furniture in her room other than the desk and the bed.

"Again?" Sasha whined. The oven timer went off from the kitchen. "Whatever. Tomorrow we'll do something. Now, mama's got some biscuits to butter."

Noel laughed and turned back to the mirror. She's never been fond of how she looked. Her nose seemed too long, and her cheekbones didn't show at all. She wasn't fond of the freckles dotting her nose, but somehow Sasha made her freckles look cool. Noel braided her hair, changed into an outfit (a Ninja Turtles muscle-t paired with black leggings and boots), and walked into the kitchen. Sasha was placing biscuits and berries on a plate for Noel.

Sasha licked butter off her finger and sat next to Noel, who was sitting at the bar which faced the kitchen. "Why do you like that coffee place so much anyway?"

"I answered this question before," Noel said with a mouth full of blueberries. She swallowed. "I like listening to poetry."

"More like obsess," Sasha mumbled. Noel lightly punched her arm.

"Much like you obsess with shopping." It was true, Sasha was almost always at the mall. Noel couldn't do this, because she didn't have a good paying job like Sasha. Sasha worked at a marketing office, but it was every other week, which was surprising based on the pay she got.

"Well it doesn't hurt," Sasha shrugged. 

"Well," said Noel, finishing off her breakfast. "Neither does liking poetry. I'm heading out."

"See you later," cried Sasha as Noel walked out the door.

It was a warm, summer day. A slight breeze was blowing, tousling Noel's bangs. The coffee shop wasn't far from her apartment at all. It was at the corner of the block, but it wasn't famous or anything like Starbucks. It was a small business, and has been there since 1990. Still here in 2013, they never remodeled it. That's what Noel liked about it. The old cafe vibe, the warm and coziness of it.

She opened the door, heard the jingling of the bells. Taking a seat on a comfortable-looking chair, she noticed somebody who worked there was on the small stage. He cleared his throat. "Our next poet is Zayn Malik." He smiled and nodded, motioning for the boy named Zayn to come.

He walked onstage and sat down on the wooden stool, adjusting the microphone. He was pretty handsome, thought Noel. His dark hair was brought up, showing his face. He had black earrings and a nice sense of style; a jean jacket over a t-shirt that said Guns and Roses. He licked his lips and started speaking.

"My name's Zayn, and uh, this is my poem about a breakup I had." By his accent it was obvious he was from here, that's how most people sounded like from Bradford. But there was a hint of something else. Probably Arabic or Israeli. 

"It seems like I can never be right.

I can't go down without a fight.

Forever the aching tears will stream.

I can't bring myself to fulfill my dreams.

I thought she was the one

And yet the pain is never done.

Because all those times I've shared

Left me alone and left me scared.

Can I find the match to stay?

I can only find the faith to pray."

Zayn smiled, red starting to come to his cheeks. The poem was very good, in Noel's opinion. It showed true emotion. She clapped loudly along with the few other customers.

"Thank you," he said proudly into the microphone. Noel and Zayn's eyes met for a second, and he waved. She waved back.

Damn, he's cute.

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