When I'd walked far enough to be sure Zayn wouldn't hear a word, I finally raised the phone back to my ear.
"Who's on the phone?" I asked, my voice flat.
A pause.
Then came that voice, calm, too familiar, and still carrying that same arrogance underneath it all.
"Don't pretend you don't know who you're speaking to."
I rolled my eyes, already irritated.
"I don't know. That's why I'm asking."
The drama dropped from his tone almost instantly, like he knew I wasn't playing along.
"It's Nicki," he said.
Hearing his name out loud did something strange to my chest. I didn't panic. I didn't smile. I didn't even flinch. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel something shift deep inside me.
Still, I kept it cool.
"So you still have my number," I said.
He ignored the comment. Typical.
"We need to see. And talk."
"Talk about what?" I asked, my voice calm but guarded.
Again, there is no answer. Just silence.
"It's important. It's about what happened four years ago."
