Azmaish-e-Ishq

Ch. 36: Beauty and the Beast

Author's Note

I hope you all are doing well! I decided to switch things up a little and write in third person for the beginning bit of the chapter. I hope you like it and find it interesting. And as usual, please vote and leave your thoughts in the comments!

I also locked down the idea for my next story 🥳! I hope you will want to stick around and join me on Fawad and Alizey's journey soon iA!

🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋

Third Person's P.O.V.

Dressed in what was now a wrinkled white dress shirt and charcoal trousers, the crumpled figure sitting outside the corner of the convenience shop lifted his fourth cigarette to his lips with shaky fingers.

It was a little past midnight. The no-nonsense cashier was met with a cloud of smoke when he exited the store. His eyes fell upon the slightly trembling individual on the side. He clicked his tongue then turned around to lock the doors with a sigh. He had hoped that the young man wouldn't have fallen prey to the customer asking for money in the liquor aisle. He seemed like a good kid who was going through a break up of some sorts. Given the pink of his eyes, he must've cried; it must've been true love, according to him. Alcohol wouldn't solve the problem. Giving his girl a call would've been the way to go. He would know.

After he opened his car door, he paused and watched him tip his head back while he brought the bottle to his lips. Typically, he would have to call the police to report any stragglers in front of the store during closing. His manager was tired of vandalizers trashing the front of the store. As was he, because he was the one who had to clean up the messes. But he didn't seem like any harm.

His eyes lingered on the young man. He should probably ask if he's alright. With nothing to chase the vodka with except for the box of Marlboro Gold cigarettes, he could only imagine what shape he would be in after dawn. A puff of white flew into the cold air when the grim cashier opened his mouth, but before he could utter a word, the laughter of a group of girls reached his ears. At the sound of their merry, he was reminded of his wife who he remembered was waiting up for him. He had spent his entire shift in wait of going back home to her so they could sit side-by-side in front of the telly and have her shepherd's pie which had far too many peas than his liking. But he wasn't going to complain. He'd learnt his lesson.

The car door slammed shut and he drove off onto the road illuminated by a stream of light posts.

One of the girls' laughter died down when her gaze fell on the dim figure in the corner as they walked past the convenience shop. Confusion overtook her. Was that really him? She had never seen him in such a state nor had she ever imagined he would ever be in one.

Her friends watched her excuse herself and approach him hesitantly.

She towered over him, shading him from the light of the nearest post, "Salaar?"

But he couldn't hear her. Eyes glossy, nose stuffy, throat sore from the unfamiliar bitter liquid, lungs burning with every drag of the cigarette, Salaar's senses were overtaken by Heer. She was everything he heard, everything he saw. But it had become a torment for him. Any memory of his best friend, the love of his life, morphed into her kissing the one he couldn't stand, the one who had rendered him empty in all accounts.

Ill memories of the past resurfaced as well. Them holding hands, whispering in each other's ears, kissing each other on the lips, all those moments that he had once seen which once haunted him had dug themselves out of their graves.

His heart fought with its own self. It burned. The agony, the unbearable, brutal torture—it was because of the betrayal from and the yearning for the one he loved.