The park was enveloped in a peaceful silence, broken only by the gentle rustle of leaves and the soft sound of Zayn’s movements as he knelt before her on the grassy patch. His jaw was tight, the tension evident in the furrow of his brow, but his hands remained steady, his touch soft and precise as he dabbed at the scrape on her knee with a damp cloth.

He dipped the cloth into the antiseptic again, wringing it out with careful precision, and his gaze briefly flicked upward before returning to her knee. Though his emotions threatened to boil over, his actions betrayed nothing but care. It was as if the gentleness of his touch was his way of saying what his words couldn’t—of showing her what she meant to him, even if she refused to see it.

Zayn didn’t understand why she had chosen someone else, someone who had only caused her pain. His chest tightened at the thought of what she’d endured—what he couldn’t protect her from. The knowledge left a bitter taste in his mouth, but his feelings had only grown stronger, no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise.

The words that had been lingering in his chest finally slipped out, his voice low but brimming with frustration. "Why do you keep pushing me away because I’m younger,” he asked, his tone almost pleading, “only to settle for that pathetic bastard that doesn’t deserve you?”

The words hung in the air, heavier than the quiet that followed. Zayn didn’t look up as he spoke, his focus seemingly on the task at hand, but there was no mistaking the emotion in his voice. Frustration, hurt, love—it all seeped through, unfiltered.

As his actions continued in silence, the tension between them was almost tangible, a thick, unyielding force that neither could ignore.