Uzayfa
By Afsana Wahid
“Bayaan: The City’s New Silence”
Something had changed.
The café chairs weren’t as old anymore,
The tables had shifted a little too.
But the silence hanging on the walls—
Was still the same,
The one that had come to breathe
During Uzayfa’s time.
Now Elina sat there every evening,
But her eyes searched
For a lost face.
“The Lost Register”
One day, a boy came in—
Probably a college student, young and weary-faced.
He asked simply:
“Do you still keep the blue register here?”
Elina didn’t flinch.
She simply pointed to an old drawer:
“Now we keep registers of every color…
So everyone can recognize their own ink.”
“A New Wave — The Same Bayaan”
Once a week, "Bayaan Circles" began to gather there.
There was no stage, no microphone.
Just a single candle—placed in the center.
Whoever had something to say
Would sit close to the flame and speak.
The others didn’t just listen—
They felt.
“A Letter That Was Never Sent”
One day a girl came in—
With an old phone in hand
And a draft message never sent.
She said:
“I never sent it.
I just typed it out and saved it.
I was always afraid to delete it.”
Elina said:
“At Bayaan, no message gets deleted.
You can leave it here if you like.”
She left the phone behind—charging.
“Maybe someday someone will read it…
And understand my silence.”
“The First Bayaan Walk”
One evening, Elina organized a “Bayaan Walk”—
Where no one wrote, they just walked.
Each person wandered with their shadows
Through the very streets where they had once broken down.
At every corner, there was a poster:
“If you once cried here—
Then come back and say, ‘I’m okay now.’”
“Bayaan’s Old Mirror Table”
One day, Elina restored the table
Where Uzayfa used to sit.
Now a mirror sat on it.
Below it was a note:
“You won’t be asked to share your story.
Only this—
‘How much of yourself can you feel today?’”
"And One Day, A Child Came..."
A little boy—maybe ten years old.
He had no diary, no letter.
Just a small boat made of clay.
“Is there a river here?” he asked.
Elina leaned down and asked softly:
“Whom are you looking for?”
The child said:
“The one whose story hasn’t been written yet.”
Elina smiled.
“You begin—
We’ll listen.”
“Uzayfa’s Return?”
No one said her name aloud anymore.
But some moments
Still brought her to life.
Like the day a girl asked Elina:
“Can I sit where the one who no longer writes used to sit?”
Elina nodded:
“Yes, but don’t think she’s gone.
She’s now inside you—
Just like Uzayfa lives inside every empty register.”
“Bayaan”
Now no one comes there searching for love.
They come looking for themselves.
For every voice that was never heard.
For every character that never truly ended—
Just grew tired.
And Now...
If one night,
You’re walking down a quiet alley in some unfamiliar city,
And a door slightly opens before it shuts—
Take a peek.
Maybe Elina is still sitting there,
Holding the first word of someone’s new story.
Maybe Bayaan is still breathing—
So that someone who still doesn’t understand themselves
Can simply say:
“I’m not completely broken—
Just a little tired.”
Bayaan’s Next Story:
“The One Who Came, But Didn’t Stay”
Hello friends, I’m writer Afsana Wahid.
I hope you’re all doing well.
As always, I just want to say one thing —
If you enjoyed my Bayaan Café story,
if my words touched your heart in any way,
please do leave a comment and share the story with your friends and loved ones —
especially those living outside India.
I’d truly love to know where in the world my story is reaching. 🌍
And yes, my dear readers in India —
please don’t forget to comment as well. 😊
Thank you so much for reading & supporting my writing.
Much love. 💫
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