????????. | Z.M

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I walk through the hallways, the sound of my footsteps echoing off the ancient brick walls, each step a reminder of how small I am in this grand, oppressive place. Finally, I find my history class and slip inside, choosing a seat at the very front—where the "good" students sit. The ones who try. The ones who need to be noticed.

It's my first step in becoming Professor Madden's pet, my ticket to standing out in a sea of minds too complacent to care.

As other students file in, I scan their faces, my heart skipping a beat with every unfamiliar face that doesn't belong to him. Please, not today.

But the bell rings, and the door swings shut with a sharp, finality. I slump back in my chair, allowing myself a small, almost bitter smile. Professor Madden closes the door behind him, the scent of aged paper clinging to his blazer.

"I'm Professor Madden," he begins, his voice a droning hum, "and this is History—"

The door creaks open again. A breath catches in my throat.

Zayn.

"Sorry I'm late. Got lost," he says, his voice smooth as silk, though his eyes—dark and piercing—immediately find mine. A lazy smirk tugs at his lips. Liar.

"It's alright, Mister Malik," Professor Madden mutters, dismissing him with a wave. Zayn strides past me, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his presence, suffocating, relentless. A shadow I can't outrun. His gaze doesn't meet mine—not that I want it to.

"As I was saying—" Professor Madden continues, but my focus has already fractured. I glance at the clock, my stomach growling, but I force myself to focus, nodding absently as Madden drones on. I scribble a few notes, enough to convince him I'm paying attention, though the truth is, I've stopped listening. At least to him.

The minutes stretch on, slow and unyielding, each tick of the clock a reminder of my hunger and my frustration. Finally, the bell rings, and I can breathe again. I shove my notebook into my bag, eager to escape the suffocating air of the classroom.

But then, that voice—low, mocking—drags me back to reality.

"It's so heartwarming to see you try so hard."

I freeze.

I turn, and suddenly, he's much closer than I expected. Too close. Too goddamn close. I swallow, forcing my heart back into my chest as my mind races. Did anyone notice? Please, no one notice.

"What?" I manage, my voice steady—maybe too steady.

"I just find it adorable," Zayn continues, his smirk curling like a predatory cat toying with its prey, "that you try so hard for something that comes so naturally to me."

I roll my eyes, the irritation flaring up like an old wound. "Teachers praise effort, not talent," I mutter, but the words feel hollow now, empty. I want to retreat into the walls of this place, to disappear.

"Is that what you tell yourself every night before you fall asleep?" Zayn's voice is dripping with mock sympathy, his eyes gleaming with some private, twisted amusement.

I turn away too quickly, the embarrassment crawling up my neck. I walk toward the cafeteria, trying to shake the feeling of his gaze still burning into my back.

"Izzy!" A voice calls out, and I almost jump, my heart racing.

I turn and let out a breath of relief as Alicia strides toward me, cutting through the crowd with the ease of someone who owns the world.

"Ali!" I exhale, grateful for the distraction as she pushes in beside me.

Alicia is the sun to my storm—bright, effervescent, and somehow untouched by the shadows that seem to follow me wherever I go.

"Did you see your love already?" I tease, my smile wide, but I can't help the undertone of unease in my voice.

"No classes with him yet," she replies, a playful glint in her eyes, though her words are laced with just a hint of longing. "Still holding out hope for the rest of the day."

I laugh, shaking my head, the familiar warmth of her presence grounding me.

"I know you'll see Harry in at least one of your classes," I say, raising an eyebrow knowingly.

"If I don't, I swear I'm dropping out," she retorts, though the unease flickers in her voice.

We both grab trays, filling them with the cafeteria's finest mediocrity.

"Good to have you here," I murmur, appreciating the easy camaraderie we share—so different from the endless battles of wit and will I face with Zayn.

We sit down at a table, and I glance around, eyes instinctively searching for a familiar face.

"Look, he's right there," Alicia whispers, her gaze following mine.

"Yep. That's the guy I've been crushing on for three years now," she says, her voice tinged with a wistful longing.

I lean in, half teasing, half serious. "If you don't ask him out in the next four months, I swear I'll do it for you."

Alicia's eyes widen in mock horror. "You do that, you're dead to me."

I laugh, the tension momentarily forgotten. But it doesn't last long.

A loud ruckus erupts at the end of the table, and I glance up—immediately regretting it.

Zayn, Harry, and the rest of their clique have claimed their usual seats, their voices cutting through the otherwise hushed cafeteria like a blade through silk.

I stare at the ceiling, wishing for the sweet release of death.

"Death, now please," I mutter under my breath, rubbing my temples.

Alicia kicks my leg beneath the table, her expression a mix of concern and amusement. "I don't understand your eternal fight with that man," she sighs, glancing over at me.

"No one does," I reply, my voice heavy with years of pent-up frustration.

She just shakes her head, a sly smile creeping across her lips.

I feel the weight of eyes on me before I even glance up. The whispers in the cafeteria ripple through the air, subtle but unmistakable.

Heads turn, shoulders twitch as students murmur and glance in my table's direction.

"What's everyone staring at?" I sit up straighter, trying to ignore the prickle of discomfort crawling up my spine. I don't acknowledge the glances. I won't give them the satisfaction.

Alicia, who's mid-bite of some cafeteria mystery meat, raises an eyebrow and swallows with a grimace. "Supposedly... The Midnight Society is picking people this week." She leans in slightly, her voice lowering. "The rumor is, it's you and Zayn."

I roll my eyes, already bored with the idea. "The Midnight Society? Seriously?" I scoff, leaning back in my seat. "If it's even real—and I highly doubt it—why would it be me and Zayn?" I glance over at him, just in time to catch his gaze.

His eyes flicker toward me for the briefest of seconds before he offers a sly, almost mocking smirk.

My stomach drops, the weight of his gaze lingering a second too long. But I quickly turn back to Alicia, rolling my eyes with feigned indifference.

"You two are the highest-ranking in the school, Izzy," Alicia says, her tone light but not without a hint of seriousness. She sets her fork down, folding her arms across her chest as she leans in a little closer.

"If the Midnight Society is even real, it's obvious they'd want you."

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