Writer Afsana Wahid
"That Morning at Bayaan — When One Voice Never Returned"
Morning light was seeping softly through the window of Bayaan Café.
The neem leaves were wet, as if someone had listened to them all night — without ever looking their way.
Nayra had come early that day.
She had received a letter — someone had left it at the Café’s doorstep late in the night.
On a plain sheet of paper, a single line was written:
“I never promised to return… but I did try.”
Along with it was a small bell — just like the one that used to hang on Bayaan’s old wall.
But this bell was broken.
Nayra stared at it for a long time.
Then she sat by the empty wall and quietly placed the bell inside her bag.
“A Letter to the One Who Knocked but Didn’t Enter”
That night, just before closing the Café, Nayra wrote a letter for the first time for Stories That Weren’t Written.
It wasn’t addressed to anyone.
It was just a question:
“Is every return a promise?
Or is it sometimes an apology — that stops midway?”
She placed that letter inside the same old cupboard —
the one that still held her grandmother’s last teacup.
That cup no longer gathered dust — only a dried rose rested inside.
“Bayaan’s Next Legacy — When Zareen Fell Silent”
One evening, Zareen suddenly called Nayra to his side.
He had nothing particular to say.
He simply handed her a book — Zareen’s own diary.
“These are the stories I heard…
but never told anyone.
Now they are yours.
And Bayaan now needs a new listener.”
Nayra didn’t open that book at that moment.
She only asked softly:
“Will you never come back to the Café again?”
Zareen smiled. And said:
“Now I’ll go where stories speak for themselves…
and humans only come to listen.”
“The Room with the Locked Recorder”
There was a room in Bayaan —
where the first podcast had once been recorded.
Now that room was locked.
But one night, amidst the sound of rain,
when Nayra walked past it,
something faint began to play inside.
She opened the door — and saw…
The recorder was playing on its own.
An old voice was echoing within it:
“If my voice ever returns — tell it,
before I left, I kissed the wind by the window…”
Nayra didn’t delete that recording.
Instead, she made a new episode —
“The Voice That Stayed Without a Face.”
“Bayaan Now Belongs to Those Who Whisper”
Now there’s no new board on the Café window —
only a poem:
“Those who could not scream —
sang through Bayaan.
Those who could not return —
chose to stay within Bayaan.”
Every Saturday, a girl comes there —
her eyes are just like Anaya’s.
She sits silently — never says a word.
But Nayra knows — there’s a letter in her pocket…
one she might read aloud someday.
🎙️ Title: The Bell and the Breath
Tagline: “Some silences never end — they simply turn into breaths that stay.”
Glimpse:
In this episode, Nayra narrates the story of her last guest —
a middle-aged man who never shared his name,
but in every photograph he showed, there was always a single door.
Once he had said:
“Bayaan is the place where stories speak to me —
and for the first time, I listen to myself.”
“Bayaan’s Future — That Became Everyone’s Past”
Now people don’t take anything away from Bayaan.
They leave something there —
a broken watch,
an unfinished song,
an old ring…
And when they leave,
they feel a little lighter.
Because Bayaan is no longer just a café —
It’s a door that opens only for those
who have lost themselves… and wish to be found.
🌫️ “That Afternoon at Bayaan — When a Shadow Came with the Sunlight”
That day, no one was ordering tea.
The sunlight through the window was forming a face on the floor —
as if someone invisible was sitting there.
Zareen noticed it first —
the Café’s air felt heavier,
as though someone had arrived carrying many unfinished sentences.
Then the door opened.
A girl entered — very ordinary.
Not talkative, not the kind to meet anyone’s gaze.
In her hands, she held only a white doll.
The doll’s eyes were stitched shut.
“Do you have some paper?” — she asked.
Her voice carried nothing… and yet, carried everything.
“A Story Written Without a Pen”
The girl sat down on the floor —
chose no table, took no chair.
She placed the doll in front of her.
And then…
she began to draw lines on the paper —
straight, curved, tangled lines.
Not a single word.
Nayra came closer.
“Do you want to say something?” — she asked softly.
The girl nodded — yes.
Nayra asked again — “Can’t you write?”
This time, the girl lowered her head.
Then she pointed to the doll.
“This is my mother.
And I’m the thing she never finished listening to…”
“The Mirror Behind the Bookshelf”
That day, for the first time, Nayra looked behind the old bookshelf in the Café.
There was a small mirror there — very old.
Its glass was cracked, covered with dust.
But in that mirror, the girl’s reflection appeared whole — without distortion.
“Was this mirror always here?” — Nayra asked Zareen.
Zareen replied:
“This mirror doesn’t belong to Bayaan…
it belongs to those who recognize themselves only in shadows.”
After that day, Nayra placed a chair before that mirror —
no name written on it.
But whoever sat there —
spoke to themselves, at least once.
The girl kept coming for many afternoons after that.
Each time with a new line, a new page, a new pattern.
Sometimes those pages burned — without fire.
Sometimes they flew away — without wind.
And then one day…
she didn’t come.
The doll was left behind in the Café.
A thread was tied behind its ear.
Nayra slowly untied it —
inside it was a small piece of paper:
“I still listen — if you still wish to speak…”
🎙️ Podcast Episode: “The Girl Who Wrote in Air”
Tagline: “Some people don’t write on paper — they leave threads in the air.”
Glimpse:
In this episode, Nayra tells the story of that girl —
who never spoke a single word,
yet left behind the most stories Bayaan Café had ever known.
🌾 “The Corner of Bayaan — Where the Lines Are Kept”
Now there’s a new corner in the Café:
“Naksh-e-Khamoshi” — The Design of Silence.
Here, only lines are kept.
No names, no language.
Only everything that was never said —
but was deeply felt.
And finally, just this:
If you ever visit Bayaan Café,
and find yourself with nothing to say —
then draw a single line.
Perhaps someone will read it and understand —
what you wanted to say… when you were silent.
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! ✨
https://timespeakestruth.blogspot.com/2025/10/bmw-ix-2025-electric-suv-review-india.html
No comments:
Post a Comment