The day Zayn left One Direction.

17:29     I’m reading fanfiction on my tablet, eating dinner.

17:30     A notification alerts me that One Direction have tweeted something. “One Direction statement”, I read, followed by a link to their Facebook page. My blood runs cold at those words, like I know something big is about to change. I click the link. It takes three very long seconds to load the page and my heart is racing. “After five incredible years Zayn Malik has decided to leave One Direction.” My heart stops, I throw my tablet on the sofa and run to my bedroom to get my laptop, tears already streaming. With trembling fingers, I go to the Facebook post again. I read the text, skipping parts because I'm shaking and can’t understand what is happening.

17:31     I tweet the first of a long list of tweets. “No.” Because that’s all that my brain can manage right now.

17:32     Texting my friend with the bad news, wishing I could add a “just joking, early April fool’s!”

17:33     Back to the statement, reading it over and over again until all the words have sunk in.

17:35     My heart feels like it’s been ripped out of my chest and I can’t breathe properly.

17:38     I tweet a picture of Zayn in Belgium. It hurts unbelievably much to realise he won’t be there in June. I can’t picture four of them performing, know the pain will come back full force the second they come on stage.

17:42     I DM a friend I met through One Direction. She doesn’t answer, doesn’t know it yet.

17:45     A journalist contacts me. On Monday, he’d asked me what I thought of the rumours about Zayn leaving One Direction. I told him I didn’t believe them. It seems so odd now.

18:08     My friend DMs back. The crying gets more intense again.

18:12     Looking through pictures of Zayn performing at OTRA. I feel so proud of him, always do.

18:25     Interview on the phone, a newspaper/magazine that asks for a reaction. First question: “how do you feel?” – I can’t answer for a while, tears blocking my throat. The entire conversation is a mix of tears and smiles. It hurts, saying it out loud, but I feel relieved afterwards.

18:32     The interview is finished. The journalist tells me to stay strong, “don’t worry too much”. I'm crying harder again.

18:45     I open the map of videos I have from my concert. I can’t watch. I feel like I need to do something – make a video, edit a picture, write a story, as long as I can put my feelings into something.

19:02     My eyes sting. I already know I'm not going to get much sleep tonight.

19:15     I watch the news. Half of me hopes they’ll mention Zayn, half of me knows I can’t handle it. They don’t mention him (or I missed it). It feels sort of nice to be focused on something else for a while, realise that there are other problems in the world. But it still hurts.

19:36     I'm mentally debating whether or not I'm going to call my mum.

19:38     I don’t call her. I can’t talk about it, don’t want her to hear me cry like a baby. Don’t want her to be worried about me. I'm fine. I can handle this. A broken heart doesn’t kill you.

19:48     I leave my bedroom, back to the living room. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror – bloodshot eyes and wet cheeks.

19:49     The food has gone cold. I'm not hungry anymore. I start writing this blogpost.

19:50     My head starts pounding, a headache caused by all the crying. I know I need to drink to make it go away, but the bottle is just out of reach and I don’t have the strength to grab it. The pain distracts me. I embrace it.

20:24     My head, my throat, my lungs, everything hurts, but I feel numb. Today is the day 1/5 of my world collapsed and I'm scared for the following days.

20:27     Scared, but also hopeful. Hopeful that Zayn will be happy again. Hopeful that ‘One Direction’ will exist for a little longer. Hopeful that I'll be fine, we’ll be fine. Hopeful that one day, I'll be able to look back on this day, smiling, thinking “look how upset we were, and look where we are now – it all worked out so well.”