Between the Lines

Chapter 11: Lessons & Libations

Aisha trudged into class that morning, feeling the weight of a lingering hangover. She still couldn't believe her English teacher, Mr. Malik—Zayn—was also her bartender. The way he had mixed drinks with that effortless precision, all while exuding the same unapproachable allure he had in the classroom, had left her intrigued... and maybe a little flustered. But she couldn't afford to think too much about it; Zayn had his teaching face on today, which meant he wasn't messing around.

As usual, Zayn strolled into the room, exuding the kind of easy confidence that immediately grabbed everyone's attention. His gaze swept over the room, landing momentarily on Aisha. She managed a weak smile, which he returned with a barely-there smirk before he turned to address the entire class.

"Alright, you lot," he began, his voice carrying that signature British edge that made half the girls in class sit up a little straighter, eyes locked on him. "I assume you all miraculously remembered to do the work I set for today?"

The class collectively nodded, some murmuring in half-hearted enthusiasm. Zayn raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "Bloody hell. Didn't think you all had it in you."

A few chuckles rippled through the room, and Zayn shook his head, feigning disbelief. "Don't go getting cocky on me. We're just getting started."

He opened the book they'd been assigned, skimming a few pages before focusing back on them. "Now, who wants to explain the main character's internal conflict in Chapter Four? And don't waste my time with some half-assed answer; give me the real stuff."

Jessica, ever the flirt, raised her hand with a confident smile. "I think he's struggling because he doesn't feel understood. Like, nobody really gets what he's going through."

Zayn gave her a level stare, clearly unimpressed. "Nice try, Jessica, but that's the most generic answer I've heard all week. Let's dig a little deeper, shall we?"

He glanced around the room, eyes landing on one of the quieter students, Oliver. "How about you, Oliver? What do you think?"

Oliver hesitated, visibly uncomfortable with the attention, but eventually managed to stammer out an answer. "Uh... I think he's afraid of failing. Like, he's so terrified of messing up that he doesn't even try."

Zayn's face softened slightly, nodding. "Now we're getting somewhere. Failure is a tricky thing. Sometimes, you're so scared of it, you stop yourself from even starting. Good work, Oliver."

He gave Oliver an approving nod, then shifted back into his usual, half-sarcastic demeanor. "Take notes, people. That's how you give an actual answer."

The rest of the class seemed to take the hint, scribbling furiously as Zayn continued breaking down the nuances of the book's themes. He was in his element, pacing the front of the room with that intense, focused energy that only added to his allure.

But, predictably, the flirting wasn't far off. Chloe leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand as she gazed up at him with big, admiring eyes. "Mr. Malik, you make literature sound so... fascinating. I didn't think anyone could do that."

Zayn raised an eyebrow, unfazed. "Glad I could turn your world upside down, Chloe. But here's a secret for you all—you're the ones doing the work. I'm just here to guide you."

Jessica piped up with a grin. "Well, if we're being honest, I think you're just too hot to be a teacher."

The guys in the back chuckled, and Zayn rolled his eyes, not bothering to hide his amusement. "Right, because that's exactly why I got a degree—to fulfill your high school fantasies. Focus on the book, yeah? I'm not the one up for analysis here."

The rest of the class laughed, but Zayn could tell he'd managed to get through to them. Even if they were flirting, they were engaged, and he couldn't ask for more than that.

Later that evening, Zayn was back behind the bar, where he could let his guard down a bit. He greeted the regulars with casual nods, slipping back into the rhythm of mixing drinks. It was a busy night, but he preferred it that way; keeping his hands and mind occupied kept the shadows from creeping in too close.

But, as the night wore on, he couldn't shake a familiar weight pressing in on his chest. A dark memory, fuzzy at the edges but sharp in the center, flashed through his mind—the low growl of his stepdad's voice, filled with contempt. "You think you're something, don't you, boy? You're nothing. Always have been, always will be."

Zayn's hand tightened around a bottle, and he sucked in a breath, grounding himself in the present. He wasn't that scared kid anymore. He was in control now. He quickly moved to concoct a drink, hoping to shake off the lingering unease. He combined bourbon with a hint of amaretto, added a dash of orange bitters, and topped it off with smoked rosemary. He called it The Haunted Flame.

As he served it to one of his regulars, they raised an eyebrow. "New one, Zayn?"

He nodded, forcing a grin. "Yeah. Figured I'd give you lot something different. Drink up, tell me what you think."

The regular took a sip, nodding in approval. "Damn, Zayn. You really know what you're doing back there."

He smirked, masking the traces of darkness still clinging to him. "I have my moments."

A few minutes later, as he mixed another round, a customer asked, "Hey, got anything new tonight?"

Zayn leaned forward, his voice low. "Try this one. I call it The Bitter Truth." This drink had gin, a touch of cherry liqueur, and a surprising splash of ginger beer for an extra kick. He watched the customer's reaction, feeling that small thrill of satisfaction as they took a sip and nodded approvingly.

"Mate, you could open your own bar," the customer remarked, clearly impressed.

Zayn chuckled, shaking his head. "Nah, I'm good with just this. Less pressure, more freedom. Plus, I get to mess with people like you."

He watched as the customer laughed, and for a moment, he felt the darkness recede. For tonight, at least, he'd keep his demons at bay with laughter and liquor, a temporary balm to old scars.