Close Enough To Burn
1002 Words
The school library was quieter than usual.
Rain tapped gently against the high windows, casting watery shadows across the rows of shelves. Benny sat tucked into the farthest corner, a half-read novel open in her lap, but her mind hadn’t processed a single sentence in the past ten minutes.
Because Zayn was across from her.
Unplanned. Unexpected.
And way too close.
He’d slid into the seat without asking, backpack slung carelessly on the floor, his hoodie slightly damp from the rain. He didn’t say anything at first—just met her eyes briefly before pulling out his notebook and starting to scribble in it.
Like it was nothing. Like it was normal.
But nothing about this felt normal.
The table between them was small. Too small. Benny could smell his cologne—clean, warm, a little sweet. And every time he shifted, her breath hitched.
She was hyperaware of her body. Her posture. Her hands.
And he hadn’t even touched her.
Zayn looked up. “You always sit here?”
Benny blinked. “Sometimes.”
“Why?”
“It’s quiet.”
He smiled a little. “I like quiet.”
There was something about the way he said it that made her heart falter. Like he wasn’t talking about the library anymore. Like he liked *this* kind of quiet—shared, soft, laced with something unsaid.
“Are you okay?” he asked suddenly, his voice low.
She swallowed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
He shrugged. “Just feels like you’re carrying things you don’t talk about.”
Her heart slammed in her chest. She didn’t expect that. Not from him. Not so direct.
“I’m fine,” she whispered.
Zayn leaned back in his chair, watching her carefully. “You don’t have to be, you know. Not with me.”
The words hit her harder than they should have.
She looked away, staring at the shelves behind him. “That’s dangerous.”
“What is?”
“Letting someone see what I look like when I’m *not* fine.”
He didn’t press. He didn’t ask. He just sat there, giving her space she didn’t realize she needed—yet somehow craving his closeness all the same.
After a beat, she exhaled. “What are you working on?”
Zayn turned the notebook toward her.
Sketches.
Beautiful, messy, emotion-filled sketches. One of them—half-finished—looked vaguely familiar.
A girl with soft eyes. Hidden sadness. A hoodie drawn up around her face.
Benny’s breath caught.
“That’s me.”
Zayn didn’t deny it.
“I draw what I notice,” he said. “And I notice you, Benny.”
Something in her unraveled.
She didn’t cry. She didn’t run.
But she knew—right then—that falling for Zayn wasn’t just a risk.
It was inevitable.
****
The warmth from Zayn’s words followed her home like a second skin.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Benny didn’t wear her hoodie through the entire evening. She left it slung over her chair, like she wasn’t hiding anymore. Like maybe, just maybe, she could breathe a little without it.
Dinner was quiet.
Her younger brother argued with her sister over whose turn it was to wash the dishes. Their dad half-listened, buried in the evening news. Her mum sat beside her, slicing fruit with quiet precision.
“How was school?” her mum asked, not looking up.
Benny hesitated. “Fine.”
Her mum hummed, unconvinced. “You’ve been behaving distant lately.”
Lately? Benny nearly scoffed. She’d been emotionally distant for years, going through a lot and treating depression alone. But now that she was blinking more than usual and smiling at corners of her lips, now it was noticeable?
“I’m okay,” Benny said softly.
Her mum paused mid-slice. “Just remember… people change when they start letting the wrong people into their hearts.”
Benny stilled.
Her mum said it with love, not judgment. But the words stung. It was her way of reminding Benny—like she always did—that teen relationships were distractions. That the heart was a dangerous thing in the hands of someone unready.
That conversation should’ve rolled off Benny like water.
But tonight, it didn’t.
Because how do you explain to your mum that you’re not even afraid of love—you’re afraid of loving someone because of a traumatic past that she doesn't even know about?
You're afraid of someone seeing past the sarcasm, past the coaching, past the way she helped people fix their relationships without ever fixing herself.
She excused herself early, locked her door, and curled up on her bed, arms wrapped around her knees.
She hadn’t thought about him in a while. Her mum’s friend. The one who ruined the way she saw affection. The one who made her fear warmth even when it was offered with kindness. The one who left a mark that time couldn't erase. She often said to herself that she'd sue him when she gets older but she keeps countering herself by telling herself she's never gonna tell anyone, she's never going to be the victim.
Benny pressed her face into her pillow and bit down a scream. She whispered to herself "I'm tired of all these"
Zayn’s voice echoed in her head. I notice you, Benny.
She hated that she wanted more of it. She hated that she wanted the pleasure of s*x that she wasn't supposed to be engaged in. she hated that she had to watch p*********y just to fill her pleasure. she hated that she had to hide her feelings always. she hated that she couldn't tell anyone what had happened. she hated that she had to live with a shapeless body that is not attractive.
She hated that her heart twisted with the desire to be held, to be understood, to be wanted—without shame.
But more than anything, she hated that the moment she felt seen... she also felt exposed.
- Writer
