✨ Bayaan – Next Chapter: “The Body is Gone… The Voice Remains”
That Saturday, something felt different in the Café.
The girl — the one everyone now simply called “the Bayaan girl” — was sitting before the “Map of Silence”, as always.
But this time, there wasn’t that old book in front of her...
Instead, there was a recorder.
A small one, with a blue button. On it was written a name: “Zaira Fatima”,
and below that — just one date: “14 July 2004.”
“Does this recorder still work?” Naira asked.
The girl smiled,
“No… not anymore. But its voice still lives.”
Then she played it — not by pressing the button, but just by touching it.
And a soft, chiming sound spread across the Café —
as if an old melody had bounced off the walls.
“If one day my voice remains, but I don’t…
then take it as my silence.
Because some stories don’t want words —
only existence.”
– Zaira’s voice
“Those Whose Tongues Are Silent” – Page #21:
The girl added a new story —
this time, about a radio jockey.
Someone who spent her whole life preserving other people’s voices,
but never told anyone that she was born deaf.
Her eyes listened.
Her hands felt.
And when she spoke — every sound she made belonged to someone else.
“You can’t even imagine,” she said,
“when I speak — who is actually speaking.”
“I’ve stolen every voice —
from a mother calling her son,
from a fiancée’s laughter,
from an old man’s final prayer.”
💔 She — the one the world called “the thief of voices.”
On the wall of Bayaan Café, there’s now a new picture —
of an empty chair marked with a “Z.”
Every Saturday, a small speaker is placed beneath that chair.
It never plays a sound…
Only sometimes, there’s a faint vibration in the air —
as if someone had spoken, but the words never reached anyone.
☁️ The New Question:
A new question has been added to “Those Whose Tongues Are Silent”:
“Have you ever lived in someone else’s voice?”
People stay quiet,
but the answers are always given in front of that empty chair —
someone leaves behind a tear,
or just an envelope.
On the envelope is written:
“Give my voice… to the one who still knows how to listen.”
🎙️ Podcast Episode Title: “The Voice That Was Borrowed”
Tagline:
Sometimes, your voice is the one someone else lost.
🕯️ Bayaan – No. 1: “The Face That Wasn’t in the Mirror”
That evening, soft rain was tapping against the Café windows.
Naira was there, as always…
But today, he wasn’t sitting across from her.
Instead — there was that page he had left behind.
And on it, only one question was written:
“Have you ever seen someone — who was never really there?”
Naira kept reading that page for a long time.
Then she slowly walked toward the mirror —
the same old mirror that still stood behind the books.
The surface looked strange…
as if someone had drawn a face on it with their fingers.
But the face was incomplete —
one eye was missing. One smile was half-formed.
“This face… it isn’t his,”
Naira whispered to herself,
“Maybe it’s waiting… for someone.”
🔮 A New Mark on the “Map of Silence”
That night, a new line appeared on the Map of Silence.
Someone — without words, without a name — had drawn only a single scar.
A scar that looked exactly like the mark
that remains on the palm after you let go of someone’s hand.
The Mysterious Recording
From the old radio kept in the Café, a voice suddenly echoed:
“I have come again.
But this time, not to see you —
to remember you.”
Naira didn’t flinch.
She knew —
some voices don’t return; they just change their path.
A Last Keepsake
That day, on the Café’s fourth chair, a blue handkerchief was found.
It carried a faint scent of perfume —
as if someone hadn’t said goodbye,
just paused for a little while.
Naira picked it up,
and added a new question to “Those Whose Tongues Are Silent”:
“If you had gone away… would your fragrance have stayed?”
Tagline:
Some people don’t appear in mirrors —
because they don’t stand behind us…
they stand inside us.
On one wall of Bayaan Café, there hangs a mirror —
small, a little worn around the edges,
but the reflection within it
often looks clearer than reality itself.
That evening, Naira sat alone.
A light blue scarf was slipping off her chair,
and in front of her was a cup of tea — cold,
like someone who’s grown used to waiting.
When she looked toward the wall,
the mirror seemed to breathe.
“You come every day,”
the mirror spoke for the first time —
its voice silky,
like an old song hiding beneath the dust.
Naira didn’t flinch.
Strange things in Bayaan Café always felt familiar.
“Do you wish to say something?”
the mirror asked.
Naira smiled, faintly.
“I do speak… by writing.
But sometimes, it feels like no one listens.”
The mirror stayed silent.
Then, on its surface, an old face appeared —
the elderly man who once read poetry on Bayaan’s radio,
the one who said, “Adab is more important than education.”
“Your voice still echoes here,”
the mirror said,
“in this wall,
in this silent tea,
and in the reels of that recorder.”
Naira softly asked —
“How many stories have you heard?”
Something rippled across the mirror’s surface.
“So many…
that if I ever began to speak,
every wall would start to write.”
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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