amira:13 y/o
Evening. Amira's room. Her sketchbook lies forgotten on the bed, her phone warm in her hand as she scrolls through Instagram.
Zayn had just posted a photo.
Not a selfie—just a casual pic with some of his army friends, standing under the golden city lights, smiles wide, looking effortlessly cool.
Amira's eyes scanned the photo quickly—then froze.
A comment.
From a girl's ID.
Just one emoji: ❤️
Her stomach twisted.
She clicked the profile—
A girl? Wait—no… short bio, only a few posts, nothing specific.
But something about the vibe... straight hair, soft features in the DP, made her think—
Is that Anqa? My big aunt's daughter
It had to be. The account wasn't under Anqa's name, but the face resembled hers. And Anqa was around Zayn's age. Pretty. Confident.
What's she doing commenting hearts on Zayn's post?
They don't even talk like that. He wouldn't like her. Right?
Heat flushed Amira's cheeks.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she clicked into the girl's DMs and messaged:
"You better keep your distance from Zayn."
Seconds later, the reply came:
"Excuse me? Who are you?"
Amira hesitated—then typed, playing it cool:
"I'm his sister."
It sounded believable enough. Protective. Distant. Safe.
But then…
"I'm his army buddy."
Her breath hitched.
Wait—what?
She re-checked the profile, this time properly. Her heart dropped.
It wasn't Anqa.
It wasn't even a girl.
It was a guy. One of Zayn's friends.
She felt the world tilt.
What have I done?
Trying to recover, she panicked:
"Whatever. I'm a boy too."
Silence.
Then:
"Oh wow, Zayn. Seriously? You think this is funny?"
"Stop messing around."
"Grow up."
The guy thought Zayn was trolling him. Again.
Cut to: Zayn's phone.
A storm of notifications. Group chat blowing up. Screenshots. Accusations.
He checked the account name.
Recognized it instantly.
Amira.
His little cousin.
His breath caught. Why was she messaging his friend?
He quickly took the blame to calm the situation:
"It was me. My bad."
But the second he hit send, his fingers moved to a private chat.
Zayn: "What's your problem?"
Back to Amira's room.
The message blinked on her screen like a spotlight.
Her heart dropped.
She felt stupid. Exposed. Her hands shook.
What had she done?
Why couldn't she just leave it alone?
She stared at Zayn's message, chest tight with guilt. For a second, she wanted to say sorry. Tell him it was a mistake. That she didn't mean it.
But the fear of being vulnerable won.
She straightened her back, swallowed the lump in her throat, and typed:
"Nothing. Just living my life. Talking to whoever I want."
"Not my fault if some boys can't handle that."
"Maybe you should stop worrying about me."
She pressed send and locked her phone.
Let him think she was some flirty, careless girl who talked to three boys at a time.
Better that… than letting him see how much she actually cared.