I bolted awake at the feel of ice cold water traveling down my spine. My eyes flew open and I jumped up with a start. I eyed the stranger who had so rudely awoken me and I attempted to look somewhat collected. As if I wasn’t just sleeping on this man’s porch. I cleared my throat ready to ask his name when suddenly I felt his arms around me. He hugged me like we were old friends that had been separated for centuries. He laughed to himself incredulously mumbling, “It’s you. It’s really you.” I pulled away confused and asked this welcoming stranger what his name was. He said, “Zayn, love. My name’s Zayn.” He was not from my home in Holmes Chapel. He was from England though. “Where am I?” I asked quietly. He looked at me closely as if he was analyzing how much he could trust what I was asking him. “You’re home.”
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