First message
The school hallway was crowded as Zayn Carter sat in front of his locker, dressed in his usual black hoodie. His dark hair fell into his eyes as he reached for his textbooks on the upper shelf.
Suddenly, the books slipped from his fingers and crashed onto the floor.
“Fuck,” he muttered, leaning forward to reach them, but they were just out of reach.
Before he could try again, she appeared beside him.
“Here, let me help you,” she said softly, bending down to pick up the books.
“Don’t fucking touch them.”
Zayn’s sharp voice made her freeze. He glared at her, his dark eyes filled with resentment.
Of course, she wanted to help. She always did. For two years, she’d been trying to make up for what she’d done.
Two years ago, she’d gotten behind the wheel drunk and hit him with her car. The accident had left him unable to walk, stealing his future as a star athlete and turning his once-perfect life upside down.
And he had never forgiven her.
“I said I don’t need your help!” he snapped, trying to grab a book himself. When it slipped away, his jaw tightened in frustration.
He hated needing help. He hated his wheelchair. But most of all, he hated the girl standing in front of him.
“You think picking up a few books will make everything okay?” he scoffed bitterly. “You took everything from me, and now you want to play the fucking hero?”
His gaze met hers, cold and unforgiving.
“Save your pity for someone who actually wants it. Leave me alone…”