The First Light of Dawn
At Bayaan Junction, the soft morning sunlight was slowly cascading over the wooden benches.
The shadows on the station walls had faded now —
instead, deeper colors had settled there,
like a painting that would never lose its shades.
Hijra was there again today.
Holding a small clay cup of steaming tea,
she sat quietly, gazing at Platform No. 1.
Hashir sat beside her.
Sometimes, he tried to write something,
but stopped halfway…
and his eyes seemed to steal something from her face —
that serenity,
which once existed only as a thought.
"Bayaan still echoes with your voice,"
Hashir said softly.
"But now… it’s no longer about waiting.
It’s about being together."
Hijra smiled and looked at his diary:
"Your pen doesn’t tremble anymore…"
"Now, it writes itself… completely."
Bayaan Café — Where Even Silence Is Served
Near Bayaan Junction, where once stood a shuttered paan shop,
now stood a tiny book-and-tea haven —
“Bayaan Café” —
named after Hijra.
On every table rested an old book.
Under every chair, a little note was tucked away:
“If you’re missing someone,
this chair understands your wait.”
Ruhi now arranged the tables there,
and from an old tape recorder, Hijra’s velvet voice floated through the air:
“Some loves…
talk to walls too.”
“Without ever taking a name.”
A Letter That Was Never Posted
From the last wooden cupboard at Bayaan,
Hijra found an envelope —
with no stamp, no seal.
On it, only one line was written:
"To be read… when you return."
It was in Hashir’s handwriting —
from years ago.
Perhaps from that night
when he had desperately wanted to stop her from leaving.
Hijra opened it gently and read:
“I never wanted you to go —
but standing in the way of your flight
felt like standing against love itself.
If you ever return, know this —
I never forbade you from staying.
I simply couldn’t understand the rhythm of your steps.”
And then:
“If you’re reading this,
know that my love no longer has a name…
It has become your fragrance —
spread across every corner of Bayaan.”
Hijra’s eyes welled up,
but her lips curved into a quiet smile.
The Benches of Bayaan — No Longer Waiting
Now, those who came to Bayaan Junction
didn’t come only to leave their unfinished love behind.
Some came to rediscover familiar faces.
Some came to start new stories.
Together, Hashir and Hijra
turned every old letter,
every lost train ticket,
into a Bayaan Library.
Here,
every love story found a place,
every silence its own shelf,
and every unfinished name its own key.
The Last Page of the Night
One night, Hijra and Hashir climbed up
to the station rooftop.
The entire station glimmered below —
not in flames,
but lit up by the glow of someone’s memories.
“Bayaan is still a junction,”
Hijra whispered.
“But now…
it’s where journeys begin —
not where they end.”
Hashir opened his diary.
For the first time,
there were no incomplete words.
A full sentence was written:
“Some loves… come back —
because they never truly left.”
On Bayaan’s last wall,
one sentence is written:
“When stories no longer feel incomplete —
that’s when love has finally built a home.”
And below it:
— Hijra & Hashir
(Who never told their story twice —
they simply lived it once, completely.)
Bayaan Café — A Meeting Beyond Languages
1. The Old Poet Who Finds Poems in Scrap
Near the edge of Bayaan Junction, under a neem tree,
sits an old man every evening.
A white shawl, a wooden cane, and an old notebook —
on whose cover, just one word is written:
"Stay."
His name?
No one knows.
People simply call him “Baba-Bayaan.”
He asks no questions, tells no tales.
Every day, he digs through the station’s discarded papers,
picks up old love letters,
and writes new poems
on the corners of their pages.
One day, Ruhi asked him:
“Baba, you’ve been doing this for years?”
He smiled and replied:
“Because true poetry…
is always hidden
in the corner of someone’s unfinished letter.”
2. The German Woman Who Spoke Through a Perfume Bottle
One day, a foreign woman entered Bayaan Café.
Simple clothes, short hair, depth in her eyes.
She introduced herself: “Helena.”
She didn’t know Hindi.
Yet, she stood staring at an empty perfume bottle
hanging on the wall for a long time.
Then, she opened her notebook
and wrote a line in English:
“I don’t know whose scent this was…
but it reminds me of someone I never met.”
Ruhi quietly walked over and sat beside her.
Helena closed her eyes and said softly:
“In Berlin, there is no place like this…
where people’s love lingers,
like forgotten perfume
in the folds of time.”
Ruhi called Hashir over.
Hashir handed Helena the perfume bottle.
Helena was startled.
“This? You’re giving me this?”
Hashir nodded.
“At Bayaan, things are given…
never kept.”
3. A Poem in Two Tongues
Helena spent hours at Bayaan Café that day.
She read the walls,
listened to people’s stories,
and felt every word —
as if language itself had become unnecessary.
In the evening, Helena and Baba-Bayaan
sat together at one table.
Helena scribbled a few English lines,
and Baba translated them into Hindi.
Together, they created a poem —
half in English, half in Hindi.
“Lost are names
but not the scent.”
"छूट गए हैं नाम,
मगर महक अब भी ठहरी है…"
“We never said it,
but we lived it.”
"कभी कहा नहीं,
पर जी लिया तुम्हें…"
Now, this poem is painted on the front wall of Bayaan Café.
Beneath it, two names are written:
— Helena & Baba-Bayaan
"For a love that crossed languages,
but never missed the meaning."
4. Before Leaving, She Left a Twig
Before leaving,
Helena plucked a small twig from the neem tree
and handed it to Baba-Bayaan.
“For your poems…
they are trees now.”
Baba placed the twig carefully inside his notebook,
and whispered softly:
“Bayaan is no longer just my voice…
It has become my lifetime.”
Hello friends! 🌿✨
If you enjoyed my story, please don’t forget to leave a comment and let me know how you felt about it.
Also, it would mean a lot if you could mention the city and country from where you’re reading — especially my lovely readers from outside India, but my dear readers from India too! 🇮🇳🌍
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Thank you for your love and support! ❤️
Writer Afsana Wahid
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