Bayaan Café | Tape #11 — The One Who Returned
Morning sunlight was slowly slipping through the café windows.
Nilofar was making coffee — but her eyes kept wandering toward the door.
Altaaf hadn’t come.
Hamnaaz had said, “Don’t reply…”
But now, the reply was in her hand — a white envelope,
its ink slightly smudged at the corners.
Below, only one name was written: Hamnaaz.
Hamnaaz’s Day
Hamnaaz kept that envelope in her bag all day —
like a memory locked inside a cupboard…
that could be opened,
but might never close again once touched.
Evening began to fall.
The birds’ flights grew longer.
And the café bell rang again.
Altaaf was there — right in front of her.
No complaint, no question — just those same eyes…
the ones where she had once read her own name.
She walked closer.
Didn’t sit.
Just handed him the envelope and asked softly:
“Does it have everything inside?”
Altaaf lifted his gaze.
“No,” he said.
“Only what was never said before.”
Hamnaaz Opened the Letter…
She read it.
Every word untied a knot inside her heart.
**“Hamnaaz,
Your silence never scared me.
What scared me was that you might never speak at all.
I felt you every single day —
your silence became the loudest sound in my life.
In everything you never said,
I saw love melting quietly inside my breath.
But I too was afraid…
that if I said it aloud, I might lose you.
Now that everything has been spoken —
can we just sit, quietly?
Just near? Without words?
Because I no longer want to understand you —
I just want to live you.
Hamnaaz, I don’t want to call your name with my voice anymore…
I want to call it by being beside you.
— Altaaf.”**
Beyond the Silence
Hamnaaz didn’t read the letter twice.
Just once — then pressed it to her chest.
When she looked up, Altaaf was still sitting there,
the same question in his eyes.
She said nothing.
Just pulled a chair —
And sat down across from him.
And then the two of them… just sat.
No noise.
No more letters.
The café’s silence now held peace.
Tape #11 ended with a single breath-filled voice:
“Sometimes love doesn’t need words —
just a presence that whispers…
we won’t part anymore.”
📍 Tagline for the Next Episode:
“Those meetings that say nothing — yet change everything.”
Bayaan Café — The Night’s Silence and That Corner Table
A soft yellow light spread across the café wall.
The rain had stopped,
but streaks of water still slid down the glass —
like unfinished words melting quietly into the silence.
Hammad’s gaze rested on Nilofar,
sitting across from him —
wearing that same baby-pink night suit
which on any other day might’ve seemed ordinary,
but tonight, under the dim café light,
looked like a dream from another time.
Her hair was loose — neither combed nor tied —
as if her soul had just wandered there,
fresh out of sleep.
She held a cup of tea,
but her eyes were somewhere else —
maybe tangled in an old memory within.
Hammad said softly, “Nilofar…”
She looked at him.
The silence between them paused — like music holding a note.
No words, but in her eyes — something.
Perhaps a tired love,
that is born anew every day and breaks every night.
“You know,” he said quietly,
“many people come to this café.
Many stories too.”
Nilofar smiled — a smile carrying fatigue, not sarcasm.
“Yes,” she said slowly,
“and some stories… return.”
Hammad’s heart trembled at her words.
Maybe he had realized —
they too were one of those stories that return,
but with changed characters.
Leaning forward, he looked into her eyes.
“But Nilofar…
this time I want us to stay the same —
just a little less silent.”
Nilofar didn’t reply.
Her fingers still held the cup handle — slightly trembling.
Outside, raindrops began again —
but now they didn’t sound like pain,
they felt like peace raining over their souls.
For a moment, it seemed as if every chair, every wall, every corner of the café
was listening to them —
and the next page of their story
was being written right there.
Bayaan Café — The Place That Never Closes
This café isn’t made of walls —
it’s made of stories.
On every chair sits an unfinished love,
on every table lies a stain of betrayal’s ink,
and in every cup, memories boil instead of tea.
Time doesn’t stop here —
but people do.
Sometimes a Nilofar’s laughter pauses midair,
sometimes Hammad’s silences stay behind on chairs.
This café never closes…
because emotions don’t follow a timetable.
Every evening, a new story is born here —
and every morning, someone leaves their story behind.
Sometimes someone says,
“I’ve forgotten her…”
and right then, their trembling hand spills the tea.
Sometimes someone smiles and says,
“I’m fine…”
and their eyes refuse to testify that lie.
There’s no waiter here —
only torn pages of old tales flutter around.
Every wall hangs a picture —
of a love that never met,
a lonely moment,
a word never spoken.
Someday, come here…
sit quietly, say nothing.
Your silence too will become a story here —
because Bayaan Café isn’t just read,
it’s felt.
Hello beautiful readers,💞💞💞😊😊
I’m Afsana Wahid, the writer of this story. 🌸
No matter which country or corner of the world you’re reading from —
I’d truly love to hear your thoughts.
Please send me a message or leave a comment and tell me how you felt about this story.
Your words mean the world to me! ✨
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