Zayn closed the door of his study room with a soft thud. His hand remained in his pocket as he walked toward his large, polished oak table. The room was dimly lit, with only the soft glow of a desk lamp on the far end. Thick books lined the shelves, and the smell of leather and paper filled the air. The walls were a deep gray, and the heavy curtains were drawn, shutting out the daylight completely.
Just as he reached his chair, he paused. His dark eyes narrowed slightly.
What’s wrong with me? Why am I feeling this way?
He let out a tired sigh and slowly removed his hand from his pocket. Zayn had never been one to hesitate. He didn’t think deeply about emotions or second-guess his decisions. If he wanted something, he took it. If someone got in his way, they paid. It was simple. But ever
