☕ Bayaan Café | Tape #10 — The Name of Hamnaaz
The note was still there on the café wall:
“Some words are meant only to be heard, not answered.”
— A
Nilofar had read that “A” many times.
By now, she was sure —
A was not just Altaaf.
A… might have been Hamnaaz too.
How?
Tape #10 played.
This time, the voice was faint — as if someone spoke not from the heart, but from the breath.
“Altaaf…
Had you ever called my name?
Without a sound?”
“There was a spark in your eyes —
as if you had already said everything to me…
without saying a word.”
“And yet, I kept writing you a letter every night.
And tore it up every morning.
Because I was afraid —
if you ever read it,
you might lose me.”
At the end of the tape, there was only a sob —
and a single word:
“Hamnaaz…”
Altaaf’s Night
That night Altaaf sat alone.
The café had closed.
Lights off — only a lantern flickering on the table.
He took out his diary — “The Words That Remained” —
and wrote something new, after many years.
“Hamnaaz,
if you had read your name in my eyes —
then yes, I had called you.
Without a voice.
Every day. Every time.”
“After you left, I couldn’t say anything…
because I felt,
if I spoke, everything would fall apart.”
“But now, when everything is already shattered,
can I at least
say your name completely?”
“Ham–naaz.”
A Letter… this time, it was sent.
Next morning, the café bell rang.
Nilofar looked up —
at the door stood Hamnaaz.
No suitcase, no book… just an envelope in her hand.
She came in, and handed that letter to Altaaf.
“This time I didn’t tear it.”
“This time you can read it. But don’t reply.”
“Some words… are meant only to be read.”
📍 Tagline for Next Episode:
“Sometimes, the one we lose doesn’t return to us… they just listen. Silently.”
The complete letter of Hamnaaz
(as she wrote it — but never sent, though she poured her heart into it every time…)
“To Altaaf,
the one who was once mine… perhaps still is.
Sending you this letter isn’t within my strength,
but writing it has become the only way I survive.
Every night, when the world sleeps,
I wake — think of you —
open a paper, lift my pen,
and repeat everything I could never say.
Altaaf…
you once asked me,
‘Did you ever love me?’
I had smiled then, but today I’ll say it:
Yes, I did.
And perhaps I still do…
in the silence resting in my eyes.
The time I spent with you
wasn’t just time —
they were the most beautiful breaths of my life.
There was a peace in your words
that touched my soul…
But maybe I got scared —
your love was so pure,
and my silence so cowardly.
I was afraid —
if I said ‘I too…’
this dream would break.
So I never said the things
I longed to say in every word.
Altaaf,
the quiet companionship you gave me,
I felt all of it.
The questions in your eyes meant for me,
I read them all — but couldn’t answer.
Now when everything is over,
and only silence stands between us,
I write this letter —
so that someday,
if you, too, drift into my memory,
you’ll know that
I didn’t just love you — I worshipped you.
Your name
is still part of my prayers.
In every poem, every melody, every dream of mine… it’s all you.
If someday this letter reaches you —
just know this,
that the Hamnaaz who once stayed silent
has confessed the truest truth
in these words.
Forever yours,
Hamnaaz.”
Altaaf read Hamnaaz’s letter,
and that same night,
he began writing his reply —
everything that had been imprisoned in his heart for years.
“That evening, when Altaaf read Hamnaaz’s letter…”
The sunlight had turned a pale blue.
Through the window, the wind stirred the pages of old books —
as if trying to recite a forgotten story on its own.
Altaaf was pulling out some papers from his old chest
when he found the yellow envelope —
still carrying that faint scent
which once came from Hamnaaz’s dupatta.
He turned it over —
no name,
just that same handwriting…
the one he could recognize even with his eyes closed.
He opened the envelope softly,
pulled out the paper, and sat down on the chair.
The last line of sunlight crossed the room
as Altaaf began to read the letter.
Each word —
like a touch on an old wound inside the heart.
Hamnaaz’s silence, her fear, her helplessness —
all seeped into Altaaf’s chest.
He sat there for a long while —
the letter resting on his lap, eyes closed.
His breaths seemed to be returning from another world.
Then he read the letter again —
this time slowly,
feeling every word…
as if listening to a ghazal —
one he had yearned to hear for years.
He picked up his diary from the table,
uncapped his pen,
and began to pour out
the weight of his heart
onto the paper —
a reply,
after all these years.
Writer Afsana Wahid
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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