One Direction Imagine- Chapter 4 “Still The One”

Chapter 4
“Still The One”
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Two years after Zayn and I where still dating.
The events I am writing down took place exactly on the anniversary of the day we met. “We’ve had joy, we’ve had fun, and we’ve had seasons in the sun!” J’veaux qu’on rie, j’veux qu’on danse, j’veux qu’on s’amuse comme des fous! As the original version of that song goes. We where then staying in Paris, for two days, because of some gigs the band had.
I woke up that day feeling excited as hell! I didn’t even tell Zayn anything about our anniversery because I figured he knew. We’ve always had that sort of thing I’ve noticed, like we needn’t even say anything to each other because we kind of already know, because we love each other so much. It’s like telepathy, almost.
“Hey”, I say snuggling closer to wake him up, having woken up myself specially early out of excitement.
“Hmm….”
“Good morning, love. Morning being the key word. Good night.” he mumbles, falling back to sleep.
I lay down on his chest for a few minutes, but I can’t doze off myself. I’m too thrilled; because I’m remember Eleanor saying that after two years in when you know it’s forever. If you have any doubts on the day of that proclaims two years of dating then it isn’t meant to be. She should, not that Louis and she are so happily married!
I kiss Zayn on the cheek and tell him to wake up, it’s a big day.
“Darling, we’ve been through this a million times.”
“Only once so far!”
“No, we’ve been together for a year…”
“Two.”
“And we always go through this deal every time, after a concert and before another gig I need some sleep! I love you to death, but I’m just too tired to do anything. We can go visit Père Lachaise later. Or some museums. Whatever you want! The best for you, but now I really need to sleep.”
“So that’s all today is for you? A day in Paris?”
“No, love, don’t you remember? I’ve got the big concert today. The most important one in the whole tour.”
So that was it. He didn’t remember it was the day when we first met. He just went back to sleep, mumbling something about how I shouldn’t worry because I’m always on his mind, even when his dreaming, which, had he been awake, would probably had come out as being immensely romantic, but, due to me being utterly pissed off at that moment and him being too drowsy to notice, ticked me off even more.
I get dressed; look at my watch, which, not coincidently, is the same one I wore during the trip to New York for our first date. It’s already 11 am, I don’t know what he’s on about.
That day I have the day I’d planned for the two of us to have – that is to say, unless, as I’d hoped, he’s arranged yet another surprise for me. That boy can make anything fun and was always pampering me to lovely treats, until the day when I was truly meant to have something special that is.
I go to our favorite little brasquerie, this little coffee shop called Le Bosquet. I say favorite because in the two years since we’ve been together I’ve given up just about everything to join him. I can’t say I regret it, a life in the limelight sure as hell beats the semblance of life I used to have. I haven’t spoken to my parents in about 3 months, since they disapprove of my relationship, I take my classes online and as for friends, I’ve made new ones and lost my old (although considering how that last time I met with Honey went, that isn’t necessarily a bad thing). I have no spare time. Being a glorified groupie-slash-girlfriend and full time college student is quite time consuming.
But this is to say I know Paris. Not like the back of my hand; I know no nocks or crannies. But Zayn and I have been here a few other times, and we always stay at this same hotel and go to this same bistro because of a personal joke. To this day I have no idea what that personal joke is, because he had just returned from a show and I was hyped up and the next morning we literally had no memory of that night. All I know is that it, according to Harry and Liam, it must have been really funny because there was coke (the drink not the drug!) snorting out of my nose, I was laughing so hard. How feminine.
This “personal joke” makes me giggle into my croissant– for about a second because I’m still fuming. I can’t believe he remembered the gig but not me! Granted, it is the gig of his life but I’m the love of his life! That is to say I think I am. Eleanor said that if, on the day of the two year anniversary I’m hesitant it means it isn’t meant to be… I’m not certain right now.
But that concert is the concert of his life. Their biggest one yet! Cross that out. Probably the best show since Woodstock itself. One Direction’s Woodstock East. East because it’s the European version of the famed event. Not like Altamont was meant to be, because all the security measures have been taken.
The premise of things was that people were unhappy with the high prices of the tickets in general. Not that is was the boys fault, they tried to bring down the costs but they didn’t have the authority, which was with all the fat cats at Syco Records, with the retailers and all that. So then, because the boys didn’t like seeing their fans even slightly upset they, inspired by the big gig of the 60s where all the titans of music of the time held a free concert for any and all fans, decided to do the same.
Only Frisco’s dead now, NYC is predictable, London is home and Paris is… Perfect. They decided to cough up about a few million a piece into the making of the show and do it at Jardins du Trocadéro, those fabulous gardens you can see from the Eiffel Tower.
To solve the space problems they shut down the fountains and created these bridgy things made out of piersepex, impossible to collapse, where people can stand on. If you look down the still water at dusk, with the pyrotechnic lights shining through, the whole thing looks dreamy. The show, I believe will be marvelous.
I thought the whole thing might be like a sonnet to me, since Zayn himself picked the date. Turns out I’m not even remembered.
I don’t feel like continuing the day as I’d planed. It’s too depressing. I spend my afternoon counting down the time until the show while sitting in a small bookstore, trying to remember some French. I check my sell constantly for texts but there’s nothing.
By 6pm, when my watch says the show has almost started I can’t take it anymore. I can’t stand still, I have to move.
I catch the tube to the Eiffel Tower, Champ De Mars stop, because it’s my favorite place in the entire city. I’m not going to the concert. I shan’t of course, not till Zayn realizes what he’s done. Or, at the very least, considering how things are going today, until Eleanor points out his major gaffe.
Leaving the stop I see a poor man who everybody seems to ignore  with an unstringed instrument, a bass, playing some melodies in exchange for coins. I remember when, last time we came to Paris, Zayn and I made a little game of this and discretely drop a thousand Euros onto the lap of every talented musical hobo we meet. It was dead fun because we didn’t want to get caught, and the look of joy on their faces when they finally noticed a random stranger’s display of generosity was heartwarming. But those days seem to be gone now and I’d apparently have been better off falling for the poor instrumentalist than for the rich boy. At least the pauper would have appreciated me. I give that unknown human being a “mere” 200 Euros, a fact that he’s not even aware of, that’s how entranced he is by his own music.
I walk into my monument, ushered by a worker who apparently recognizes me though that isn’t mutual. It is as stunning as ever. Zayn, the first time we where he, found it so gorgeous he gave me a life time pass for entering so I don’t pay a ticket. He both one for himself too. “Because you’ll never be in the heights of the world’s most romantic city by yourself”, he’d said. Right, so that was why I was all alone that day?
It’s oddly vacant. There is literally nobody here, which is weird. It wasn’t even this vacant the time Zayn booked the whole thing just for us, since there were still a bunch of directioners standing under the tower, because somehow the paparazzi got a hold of his Valentine’s Day plans.
I suppose the reason it’s so empty is because all of the young people are the free concert and every old person is sitting at home trying to avoid the noise. It’s not that I can hear the music from across the Seine, more like I can hear the melody.
I lied. The reason I was up there wasn’t because I love it, although that is in fact true. I wanted to be able to see my Zayn at the concert, without actually attending. To be there would be to painful, but it would have hurt even more not to see his face. I can always read his face, even when nobody else can, as I know him so well. I can tell if he’s happy or sad, upset or anxious, and there’s that special look he always gets when he looks into my eyes, like he’s at home. Today, I want to see if he feels remorse for having left me or if he doesn’t even remember at all.
I stand in the topmost floor of the Eiffel Tower, looking through one of those binocular thingies. I chose one that seems to be new; it’s extraordinarily good and modern looking, and has the added bonus of pointing exactly in the direction of the Palais de Chaillot.
To be honest even though all I intended was to sneak a peek, I knew I wouldn’t be able to do so and would end up watching their entire repertoire, even if I couldn’t listen to it at all. I could even lip read their songs, since I’d managed to retain those skills from my years with no hearing.
I’m bothered by the fact that Zayn is looking happy. Happier than I’ve seen him for a long, long time… It makes me cry a little, and that fogs up my binoculars making it hard for me to see at some points. That alone says something because they really are excellent specs, I can see the boys as well as though I where in the front row of the show.
Halfway through, Zayn, who I’d most certainly been keeping my eyes on the entire time, walked out. After that, to try and keep my mind away from him as I wasn’t feeling ready to leave my Eiffel Tower, my attention was devided fairly between all the boys.
When the show is about to end, Zayn still mysteriously absent, they all end before singing their last song (I, of course, know the list by heart).
“Before we end the show one of just has a message for the girl of his dreams. This ‘ere is from Zayn.” I read what Niall’s lips are saying.
Projected on to the Palace they show live footage. Zayn’s head bobs on, I can’t see where he is but I focus on what he says.
“Darling, I know you think, I’ve forgotten but I never could forget, the girl  once upon a time met, the only person I ever could love and ever will love. I can’t forget my fairytale. This was all planed, I knew you’d come here, and I knew I had to break your heart a little today. But don’t worry, I did it so you could link your heart with mine forever.”
I can see he’s right behind me.
“I love you. Love of my life, will you marry me?”
“Yes.”
The people at the show are probably cheering at us two, who they can see on the screen, but I don’t know, because I’m busy kissing my fiancée.
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