Mulazim-E-Al-Wadood (On hold)

Chapter 40

Third Person's POV

Hours later, the graduation ceremony began, but Muskan’s mind wasn’t there. The applause, the cheers, the camera flashes—it all seemed distant, like she was watching someone else’s life unfold. As she crossed the stage to receive her degree, she forced a smile, her eyes scanning the crowd for Zayn. But she quickly looked away before he could catch her gaze.

He doesn’t deserve my attention, she thought bitterly. I won’t let him hurt me any more than he already has.

The rest of the ceremony passed in a blur. Muskan avoided the familiar faces, kept her head down, and made a quick exit as soon as the event ended. She couldn’t bear to stay around, to see Zayn, to hear his voice, to pretend everything was okay when her heart was shattered into pieces.

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A few days later, Muskan returned to work at the café, hoping the busy environment would distract her from the storm of emotions raging inside her. She needed to focus, to push Zayn out of her mind, out of her heart. She wasn’t the type to wallow in self-pity, and she refused to let his thoughtless words define her.

The café was small but cozy, nestled in a quiet corner of the city. It was a popular spot among students and young professionals, with its warm lighting, the rich aroma of coffee, and the soft hum of conversations that filled the space. Muskan had always enjoyed her time working here. It was a peaceful escape from the pressures of university and the complexities of life.

But today felt different. Every task—brewing coffee, taking orders, clearing tables—felt mechanical, like she was on autopilot. Her mind kept drifting back to Zayn, to the way he had smiled at her so effortlessly, the way he had always been there in the background of her life, and now, the way he had reduced her to nothing more than a bechari in his eyes.

She was wiping down the counter when the door to the café jingled, signaling a new customer. Without looking up, she went through the motions. “Welcome, what can I get for you today?”

“Assalamu alaikum.”

The voice was unmistakable. Her heart skipped a beat, and she clenched her jaw as she slowly raised her head.

Zayn stood in front of her, looking as casual and confident as ever, his hands in his pockets and a smile playing on his lips. But to Muskan, that smile was no longer comforting. It was a reminder of the hurt she had buried deep inside.

She forced herself to maintain her composure, keeping her expression neutral. “Wa alaikum assalam. What would you like to order?”

Zayn blinked, surprised by the formality in her tone. "Same as always.”

Muskan nodded curtly and turned to prepare his drink, ignoring the way her hands trembled ever so slightly. She could feel his eyes on her, studying her, trying to understand what had changed. But she wasn’t going to make it easy for him.

When the coffee was ready, she placed it in front of him without meeting his gaze. “Here you go.”

Zayn frowned, his confusion evident. “Muskan… are you okay?”

She didn’t flinch, didn’t let her mask slip. “I’m fine. Is there anything else you need?”

His frown deepened. “You’re acting weird. Did I do something?”

Muskan’s grip tightened on the counter, but she didn’t look at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sir. If that’s all, I have other customers to attend to.” She emphasized the word "Sir" with a sharp edge, her voice dripping with cold formality, as though the title was a barrier she was deliberately placing between them.

The coldness in her voice seemed to catch him off guard. He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it, clearly unsure of how to proceed. Muskan turned away before he could press further, busying herself with another task, even though her heart was racing.

She heard him sigh before he quietly picked up his coffee and walked to a table by the window. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as he sat down, his expression troubled. But she forced herself to look away, refusing to give him any more of her attention.

The café continued to fill with customers, and Muskan threw herself into her work, determined to keep her mind off Zayn. But every now and then, she caught glimpses of him—sipping his coffee, staring out the window, occasionally glancing in her direction. It was like he was waiting for her to crack, to acknowledge him, to give him a sign that everything was still the same between them.

But things weren’t the same. They couldn’t be.

Days passed, and Muskan maintained her icy distance from Zayn. Every time he came into the café—and he came more often than usual—she treated him like any other customer. Formal, polite, distant. Each interaction was brief, and Muskan made sure to keep her tone neutral, her expressions unreadable. Rubina aunty and shayra were also confused like Zayn.

It hurt, more than she wanted to admit. Every time she saw him, her heart ached with the memory of what he had said, the casual cruelty of his words. But she wouldn’t let him see that. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he had hurt her.

One evening, as she was cleaning up the cups, Zayn walked in again. This time, he didn’t bother with the formalities.

“Muskan, we need to talk,” he said, his voice firm.

She didn’t even look up from where she was cleaning the espresso machine. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Zayn sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Why are you acting like this? You’ve been avoiding me for days.”

Muskan’s movements stilled for a moment before she resumed cleaning. “I’ve been busy.”

“That’s not true, and you know it.”

She finally looked up, meeting his gaze with an icy stare. “What do you want from me, Zayn? You come in here every day, and I treat you like any other customer. What more do you expect?”

He stared at her, taken aback by the sharpness in her tone. “I don’t understand. We were fine before, and now you’re acting like I’m a stranger.”

Muskan felt a surge of anger rise within her. “Maybe because that’s what you are to me now.”

Zayn’s brows furrowed in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

"Zayn. I can't give you attention 24/7. I'm not your entertainer or something. Or I'm also not helpless or lonely who doesn't have anyone to talk to, So stop treating me like one." She said coldly. With no expressions on her face. Saying that she left.

“What happened, Zayn? Another argument?” Shayra asked, her eyes filled with concern.

“No,” Zayn sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “She’s been like this since graduation day, but I have no idea why.” He glanced at Shayra, confusion and frustration etched on his face.