𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑...

OCTOBER 10TH, 2019

Dear Vienna,

This feels strange, writing to you like this. I tried messaging you, only to realize I've been blocked. Fair enough. Honestly, probably a smart move on your part. I even tried Instagram... yeah, I know, "sliding into DMs is why romance is dead," as you once said. But it was all I had left. To which I found out that I can't actually contact you because we dont follow each other.

I have to admit, writing a letter like this? It feels way better in my opinion. There's no pressure to be clever or quick. No little "typing" bubble staring me down. I think I might start doing this more often. Even though my hand already feels like it's about to fall off, it reminds me how dependent I've become on screens and keyboards. Funny how much we rely on something that makes us feel so disconnected.

Anyway, I'm rambling. What I really wanted to say is thank you.

For what you said. For sticking up for me when you didn't have to.

You could've stayed silent, and honestly, no one would've blamed you. If anything, I'm sure people expected you to. Hell, maybe even wanted you to. And here's the part I hate admitting...when I first found out you spoke up, a part of me wished you hadn't.

Is that bad to say? I don't know. I guess I just didn't want you caught up in my mess again. I didn't want your name anywhere near mine, not with everything being thrown around. You've always deserved better than the chaos I come with. And I was scared. Scared that people would come for you. Scared that I'd drag you down just by association.

But it was kind of funny... I was the one jumping on Twitter and now you are. Guess you kind of stole my brand there.

I want to write more and I have more to write but my hand is cramping so bad right now and if I don't stop then it will for sure fall off. I think I have to write more letters to get used to it.

Anyways, I'll stop here before I push my wrist into full-on retirement. But if you're still reading this I just wanted to say another thank you and I hope you're doing well. It's been a while.

Unblock me. Or write me back. Either way, a word from you would be nice.

More soon if my hand survives.

Zayn.

OCTOBER 23RD, 2019

Dear Vienna,

Turns out you moved to New York City? Wow. That was lame of me. I sent you a letter the other week to your old place in L.A. The mail dude looked at me like I was completely off my rocker when he realized I was mailing something to an address only fifteen minutes away. Oh well...

After writing that last letter, I found myself doing some thinking. Maybe writing letters is actually good for me. It's not like writing music, well, kind of. It makes me feel calm in a different way.

So yeah, I've decided I'm going to keep writing you. Letters you may never read. Letters that might get lost between cities or tossed in drawers or ignored completely. Still, there's something about doing it that helps. Helps me feel a little more human.

Weird to admit, but I've been getting information from third party sources. Like Harry, of all people. And get this, he didn't even know you'd moved to New York. I swear that man knows everything about everyone. I figured he would've been the first to know, you know, because of Laura. But she's a real one, she wouldn't rat you out.

I just assumed you were still in L.A. I think maybe I wanted you to be. There was something comforting about knowing we were in the same city, even if we weren't... anything anymore. But I get it. A fresh start. A new skyline. Less of me in the rearview.

So yeah, this is letter number two. No big grand gesture. No heavy words.

Just... me, saying hi. Again.

Zayn.

NOVEMBER 17TH, 2019

Dear Vienna,

I wasn't planning on writing tonight. I had music playing, tea going cold beside me, and my brain was doing that thing where it won't shut up, but in a soft way, not the anxious way. And somehow, you wandered in.

Okay, don't make fun of me, but I bought one of those pens people use to write calligraphy. Thought it might make these letters look cooler. It doesn't. It made my writing look like a toddler trying to draw cursive underwater. Ink everywhere. My kitchen table looks like crime scene but if the blood was black.

I walked by that ramen place we went to that one time in Silver Lake. You remember? The one where you said the broth changed your life and then spent half an hour describing it. I'm surprised I didn't get bored, but again, it's you so I wouldn't. I didn't go in, just kept walking, but it made me think of that night. You had your hair tucked into your scarf and a soft pink flush on your cheeks from the cold. I've always liked you in scarves.

I don't know what version of me you keep in your head. I wonder if it's the one who messes things up or the one who tries to fix them too late. Maybe both. Maybe neither. Maybe you stopped trying to figure me out a long time ago.

Sometimes I wish I could show you all the versions of you that exist in my head. I think you'd like them.

I know that sounds sentimental as hell. I blame the lack of sleep I've had these past couple of days.

Anyway, Happy Early Thanksgiving, I guess. Not sure what your plans are, probably something way cooler and more social than mine. I'll probably be with my mum if she lets me help in the kitchen without kicking me out for doing things "wrong." She's still mad about last year when I forgot to defrost the turkey. Apparently, that's a crime according to her...

That's all for now.

Love,
Zayn.

DECEMBER 5TH, 2019

Dear Zayn,

I hope you don't mind that I got your letters. Well, I mean, you shouldn't since you did mail them to me.

Funny thing, everything that was in my mailbox at my place in Los Angeles just got its last transfer over to my new place in New York. So you got the deadline, barely.

You know, I could've unblocked you and just texted. But I kind of wanted to give this a try. And to be completely honest... it's kind of fun. There's something oddly comforting about writing like this. No buzzes, no typing bubbles, no expectations to reply right away. Just thoughts on paper.

As for your thank you letter, seriously, it was no problem. It's something I've always wanted to say anyway. Staying quiet never felt right. Especially when I thought back to how you always jumped up when my name was being dragged through the mud. So yeah, you were right. I did steal your brand.

Also, I audibly laughed at your mail guy 온라인카지노게임. I think his name is Mark? He's always there when I go, same grumpy expression. Or maybe he's just tired. I don't know. But he kind of scares the crap out of me, too. So I get it.

And... it's totally a crime to not defrost the turkey! That's the most important part. You basically committed Thanksgiving treason. Your mom was right to hold it over your head. Honestly, forgetting to defrost is rookie behavior. You're lucky she still invites you to Thanksgiving in her house after that.

But it was nice hearing from you like this. I agree with what you said, there's no pressure when you write like this. I get it now.

And I just wanted to say, in case you needed to hear it, just because I'm receiving your letters doesn't mean you should stop. If this is your way of clearing your head or finding some peace, then go for it.

Keep writing. I'll keep reading.

Sincerely,
Vienna.

P.S. I wouldn't recommend sending any more letters to my old address, some sweet grandma is moving in (yes, I know. A grandma in Los Angeles. Very concerned.) and I don't know how she'd feel about getting handwritten letters from Zayn Malik. Could be flattering. Could give her a heart attack. Let's not risk it.

©𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞