Aila Coraline
Everyone lied. My parents lied to me. Zayn lied to me. I don’t know what truth remains in all they’ve told me.
“We’re friends.”
I shook my head, the memory of his words stinging like a fresh wound. He said we’re something even logic can’t define, and yet, he called us friends. I’m not dumb. I know it must be more profound than that—something deeper, something unspoken.
If he’s indeed lying, then why? What does he gain by hiding the truth?
Then, like a flicker of light cutting through the haze, a memory surged forward.
“You can trust Zayn. But you can’t love him.”
My mother’s words echoed in my ears for the twentieth time today. It doesn’t make sense. None of it does. Why does the thought of me falling in love terrify them so much?
She told me once that
