[BL] CRAVING HIM: Addicted to His Voice Chapter 142: HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY LOVE

~ Zayn’s POV~

It wasn’t just a surprise. It was the surprise. A sight so stunning that not only I, but every single person standing there, froze with their mouths open, unable to close them.

Dean’s voice pulled back. "Zayn... look."

I turned, and my breath caught in my throat.

Spread across the sand was a path lined with glowing candles, leading straight to a breathtaking setup. A canopy draped in white swayed gently in the evening breeze. Lanterns glimred like fallen stars, their warm light kissing the shoreline. And there, carved into the sand with delicate rose petals and frad with candles, were the words:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY LOVE. I LOVE YOU.

Beside it, a giant heart had been drawn, its edges traced with red and white petals, flickering flas encircling it like a vow that would never burn out.

Everyone around gasped, their voices hushed as if they had stepped into a dream too fragile to disturb. So clapped, so whispered, but all I could hear was the frantic beating of my own heart.

For a mont, the world fell away, the ocean’s rhythm, the crowd’s chatter, even Dean’s wide-eyed grin. All I saw was the love poured into this scene. Evric’s love. His anger, his silence... it all blurred against the undeniable truth that stood in front of .

This wasn’t just a surprise. It was breathtaking. It was Evric’s heart laid out on the sand for to see.

But even with the breathtaking view before , my chest felt heavy. I wanted to feel pure joy, to let myself sink into the magic of what Evric had created, but I couldn’t. I appreciated it, I truly did. Yet all I could think was... he planned this when he was still in love with . Now, I don’t even know where I stand in his heart.

Dean leaned closer, his voice low as he watched the glowing setup ahead. "He’s a lover boy, Zayn. Maybe one day, I’ll also love soone this much and go the extra mile for them. Wow, Evric... he’s that man."

"Dean," I called softly.

"Yes?" he answered, turning toward .

I shook my head slowly. "You might think I’m ungrateful, but none of this really reaches ."

Dean frowned. "Why? Do you expect sothing even bigger, like a surprise boat on the water?"

I sighed. "It’s not about the surprise, Dean. I don’t care about all this. I care about the man behind it. And right now, I can’t even smile, because it doesn’t add up. He planned all of this... and yet suddenly, he’s angry with . Why? It doesn’t make sense."

Dean fell silent, his gaze softening with sympathy.

Just then, Nantam started moving closer, his face written with concern. I braced myself for his questions, but thankfully Nuala cut in, her cheerful voice slicing through the tension.

"Alright, everyone!" she announced brightly. "Let’s give our birthday man the honor he deserves. Zayn, walk along the candlelit path, your next step is waiting."

Her timing saved . I exhaled slowly, grateful for the distraction, and forced my feet to move.

I walked slowly through the path of glowing candles, their flickering flas guiding forward. Each step felt heavy, like my heart was carrying too many emotions at once.

As I passed Nicki and her friends, their whispers cut through the night air.

"What kind of woman goes this far for his partner?" one of them murmured, awe lacing her voice.

Their words stung and ward at the sa ti. I could feel everyone’s curiosity rising, every pair of eyes burning to see the one behind this breathtaking surprise. But ? My chest constricted with a painful mix of emotions, happy, yet hurt, grateful, yet afraid. Because as beautiful as this was, I still didn’t know if things between us could ever truly be okay again.

I slowed, my feet halting mid-step. The crowd hushed. My pulse hamred.

Then Nuala stepped forward, a letter in her hand. She gave a short smile, her voice carrying gently through the silence.

"This," she said, holding the envelope carefully, "is from your partner. Your lovers wanted it to be read aloud, imagining it was his/her own voice, whispering straight to you. Feel it in your body, feel it in your soul."

She unfolded the paper with reverence. My breath caught, the world holding still around .

"Now," she continued, her tone tender, "I will read it to you."

Nuala held the letter gently, her voice soft but steady.

"This letter has two parts. The first is simply to wish you, Zayn, a Happy Birthday. And the second... is called Respect."

She looked at once before lowering her gaze to the paper and began to read:

Part One: Happy Birthday

"My Zayn,

Happy Birthday, my love.

I know right now I’m not beside you the way you wish I was, but I want you to close your eyes for a mont... and imagine there. Imagine my arms around you, imagine my breath against your ear, imagine holding you the way I always do when I don’t want to let you go. If you turn your head, I’m there, smiling, watching you, whispering how much I love you.

Every year of your life has been precious, Zayn, but this year is different, because it’s another year I get to call you mine. You’ve been my calm when I was restless, my laughter when the world felt heavy, and my ho when everywhere else felt like nowhere.

These surprises, these gifts, they’re only pieces of what I wish I could give you. What I truly want to give you is a forever where you never doubt , never doubt my love. A forever where every birthday, every mont, every sunrise and sunset, I’m there, walking through it with you.

I know we fight, I know sotis my silence hurts you, but don’t let that make you question where you stand in my heart. You are my heart, Zayn. Without you, none of this, no success, no future, ans anything.

So tonight, as you walk through the candles, I want you to feel in every fla. I want you to hear my voice in every word Nuala reads. I want you to know that no matter how far apart we are, my soul never leaves your side.

Happy Birthday, my love.

This is your night, but you... You are my everyday."

—E

As Nuala read the first letter, the crowd grew silent. So guests wiped at their eyes, others exchanged soft whispers about how heartfelt it was.

I kept my head low, biting my lip to hold back tears. My chest ached, but I forced myself not to break, at least not yet.

Then Nuala lifted the second page.

Last Part: Respect

Nuala lifted the second letter with a knowing smile. "This one," she said softly, "is called Respect. But before I begin, I want everyone here to do sothing. Please, close your eyes. Imagine this mont with Zayn. Let him feel it the way it was ant to be felt."

One by one, the guests obeyed. The chatter quieted, replaced by the hush of waves brushing against the shore. The evening air grew heavy with anticipation.

Nuala’s voice rang clear as she began to read:

"I respect you from the very mont I t you, and I still do now. I know I can be rude, difficult, annoying, and even too much sotis, but still, you carry it all with calmness. I know there are monts when you want to lose your patience, yet you hold it in... for . And that ans more than you’ll ever know.

Zayn, I want you to rember this: there’s no such thing as being too busy for you. My ti, my presence, my love, they belong to you. And I’ve missed you more than words can say."

As her words sank in, sothing strange happened. I felt it.

A touch. Warm, firm, sliding from my stomach up to my chest, lingering as if to ground in the mont. My breath caught. My heart stuttered. Was I imagining this?

Then ca the scent. Familiar. Intoxicating. Him.

And a voice, low and near my ear, whispered one word that shattered ...

"Baby..."

Tears filled my eyes instantly, spilling before I could stop them. My mind scread that it couldn’t be real, that it was only my imagination, but my body knew better. The heat, the closeness, the voice, I felt him.

Nuala’s voice continued, weaving seamlessly with the illusion:

"Feel in your body, Zayn. Inhale my scent. Hear my voice. Because when you turn... You will find only , ant for you."

My whole body trembled. I turn slowly, heart pounding so loud it drowns the surf. A tall figure stands just behind , hands wrapped around an impossible bouquet, a mountain of roses, a thousand of them it seems, petals spilling like a red tide. Even before I see his face, I feel him: the heat of him at my back, the familiar perfu of his skin threaded through the roses. For a second I refuse to believe it, then the flowers tilt.

He lowers them, and the world collapses into that single, perfect mont. When his face cos into view I lose the last of whatever composure I had left. All the tears I’ve been holding in for days, for fear, for worry, for longing, break free all at once.

He stepped closer, his eyes locked only on , the world falling away until it was just the two of us. Then, with the faintest smile tugging at his lips, he leaned down and whispered,

"Did I get you big?"

And in that mont, I couldn’t even answer, my heart was too full, my chest too tense.