Mr. And Mrs. Nuisance

June met Zayn

June 1, 2010. That was the day I first saw him, after June 2006. Zyran Adams. He was the most threatening thing I could ever witness.

But not in the way you'd think. No. He didn’t scare me in the usual, run-for-your-life way. No, he was dangerous in a shaky-your-core kind of way. Like a little explosive box of chaos wrapped in darkness that I couldn’t look away from, and God help me, I didn’t want to.

It wasn’t fear, not really, but more like the constant itching feeling you get when you’re so close to the edge of the cliff, you can feel the wind kissing your face, and yet somehow, you don’t want to back away. I didn’t want to fix him, but something about him screamed for it. Like I could dive in and pull him out of his psychotic treasure chest full of messed-up thoughts. His twisted ideas on punishment. Why. When. How. All of it. And I could see it. All of it.

But then, there’s this part of me, this stupid part, that’s like, “No. Back off, June. Do not get involved in that.” Because as much as I crave to help him, to fix him, I know the truth deep down. I know exactly why he is the way he is. And it makes it all too real. Too dangerous.

You almost pity people when they say life’s been harsh on them, but Zyran’s past was beyond sick. It was like something out of a twisted horror movie that should’ve been banned, left to rot in the dark.

And when you hear the stories, the past, you feel your stomach twist and turn in ways that no puke could ever fix. You want to throw up and scream, but the more you know, the more you're hooked.

I met him that day, the second day of university. A day I should've skipped, but no. Of course, I didn’t. He made sure of that.

The road was desolate, lined with the shadows of the forest. No people, no animals. Not even a stray cat. Nothing but him and me.

I glance at the sky. It’s just like me: dull, dry. The sun is shining like it rules the entire world, but even that doesn’t matter when it’s partially covered by clouds. The heat of summer is almost suffocating. Too much. Too hot.

I’m a rain person.

Rain excites me. It’s like the universe finally understands me. The way raindrops fall, helpless to stop their journey, desperate to hit the ground. They slide through my palm, never staying too long, just like everything in my life. Nothing stays forever. Especially people. They leave. They always leave. But memories? They stay. They stick like glue.

And then there’s my mom. The one who stayed, who always watched over me. No matter how much I screwed up. She was always there.

But I refuse to believe it's her fault. No. It's always me. The bad luck. The curse that follows me around like a shadow.

I glance at him across the street. Zyran. The one who couldn’t escape me. Who wouldn’t.

He doesn’t turn. Neither do I. But I feel him. I feel him. It’s that weird, twisted thing that’s been there since we were kids. That feeling like we’re linked by some invisible thread we can never cut.

And just like that, we walk. Side by side, yet apart. Eyes glued to the ground, even though I can feel the air crackling with unspoken words. With him. Does he feel it too? The ache? The anger? The longing?

Does he miss me? Does he even care?

I know if I turned around, I’d collapse into his arms, crying like a child. But I can’t. I won’t. Not now.

The thought of calling him by his name—Zayn—it feels like swallowing nails. Forbidden. So damn wrong. But I can't stop myself from feeling that way. I can’t.

I walk past him, feeling that sick, shuddering sensation when he’s close. His shoulder brushes mine, and it’s like an electric shock that sends my whole body into overdrive. My throat tightens, but he doesn’t react. He never reacts. It’s like I’m invisible to him.

But why? Why can't you look at me, Zyran? Why pretend like I don’t exist to you?

I sigh, forcing myself to push past it. It’s fine. I’m fine. You’re just Zayn. I don’t care.

And yet, every part of me wants to scream, Why are you doing this to me?

I reach the office and see the schedule pile. I could care less. I can feel him nearby. That energy, that damn presence. I could sense him a mile away. And then, it hits me. Oh, god, he’s right behind me.

My heartbeat slams in my chest, painfully fast. My hands sweat, and I can’t breathe. I can almost hear his footsteps, feel his gaze burning into the back of my neck. I refuse to look at him.

I won’t look at him.

But then... that damn voice. “Thanks, son. You can leave the pile on my desk.”

I freeze. My throat goes dry. My knees go weak. It’s him. His voice. He’s here. And I hear his response: “Sure, sir.”

I can’t breathe. I can’t think. Everything stops.

Then the voice. “Miss, could you please step aside?”

And just like that, the tears fall.

Pretending. Again. I knew it. He’s pretending. New identity? A new life?

I move to the side without saying a word. He places the papers on the desk and turns to leave. And that’s when it happens. That brush. That moment where his shoulder touches mine.

Choke. It feels like a punch to the gut.

I shudder. My body is on fire. Does he feel it?

But he doesn’t even turn. Not even a glance.

And I get it now. He’s playing it cool. But so am I.

I won’t let him know. I won’t let him see me break. Not again..