Ineffable Love is now Mulazim-e-Al-Wadood
We meet thousands of people in this world, we get attracted to hundreds, we fall for ten and then we'll be united with the one whose name was written with our name thousands of years ago.
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Third Person's POV
As Zayn returned home, the weight of Muskan's words about Sarah and Mazhar weighed heavily on his mind. "Does she really love him?" he muttered to himself, the question echoing in the confines of his thoughts. With a deep sigh, he rose from his bed, the image of Sarah and Mazhar together playing on a loop in his mind, igniting a flame of jealousy within him for the first time.
His emotions boiling over, Zayn slipped on his boxing gloves, the cool leather providing a brief respite from the heat of his emotions. With a fierce determination, he unleashed a torrent of strikes upon the punching bag, the intensity of his blows reverberating through the room. Each punch was fueled by a mixture of frustration, hurt, and longing, as if trying to physically exorcise the demons tormenting his heart.
Yet, amidst the cacophony of his own rage, a persistent knock at the door pierced through the haze of his emotions. Reluctantly, Zayn ceased his assault on the punching bag, his hands trembling with unspent energy as he made his way to the door. Opening it, he was greeted by the familiar figure of his mother, her concerned gaze meeting his own troubled eyes.
Without a word, she stepped into the room, her presence as a comforting anchor in the storm of his emotions. Taking his hand in hers, they both settled on the edge of the bed, the weight of Zayn's pain palpable in the heavy silence that hung between them. In that moment, as the words failed him, it was the simple touch of his mother's hand that offered solace in the midst of his turmoil.
"Who is it, Zayn?" Zayn couldn't decipher what she was referring to or whom she meant.
"Hmm?" Zayn's confusion was evident, his brow furrowing as he tried to make sense of her question.
"Who is the girl?" His mother's voice held a mix of curiosity and concern.
"It's just work, Ammi. You know I'm not really into that stuff," Zayn explained, his gaze darting around the room, avoiding direct eye contact.
"Yes, I know you, Zayn. You can't hide things from me," his mother insisted, her tone gentle but firm.
"Ammi," Zayn began, but his mother interrupted him.
