🕯️ Bayaan – Next Chapter: “The Voice That Returned”
That Sunday, for the first time, the sound of rain had seeped deep into the Café.
Nayra hadn’t ordered tea today.
Only an old tape recorder sat on the table — the same one that held Zaira Fatima’s last voice.
But today… before the recorder even played, another sound was heard.
Very faint — as if it came from another room —
“I’m learning again… to speak, without stealing anyone’s voice.”
Nayra turned her head — but there was no one there.
The mirror was no longer fogged — on its surface, every unfinished story shimmered like drops of water.
📻 “Jin Ki Zubaan Chup Hai” – Page #34:
A new note had been added today.
“Is your voice also borrowed from someone?”
Below it was written:
“For the first time today… I heard the voice within me.
It was trembling, but it was mine.”
📼 A New Recording
In the corner of the Café, where that old poet once used to sit — a new tape was found.
Only one line:
“If my voice returns… will you recognize me again?”
📖 Another Line in Naksh-e-Khamoshi
In the book, someone had scratched something only with their fingers —
no words, just an outline.
It looked like a wave of sound — rising, then falling —
like a heartbeat… or a breath that stopped just before speaking.
💌 Written in Nayra’s Diary:
“Some voices do return —
but they belong to someone else now.”
“Today I listened to my own silence —
and found that even it trembled with forgotten words.”
☕ Something New on Bayaan’s Wall Now:
A wooden frame, holding nothing but the broken wire of a microphone.
Below it was written:
“Here sit those — who were never heard, yet still spoke.”
🌫️ Final Scene:
Nayra placed that blue handkerchief once again on the fourth chair of the Café.
But this time, there was an embroidery on it —
under the letter “Z” another letter had appeared:
“N.”
“Perhaps now, my voice will live on… with Zaira’s.” – Nayra
🎙️ Podcast Episode Title: “The Echo That Knew My Name”
Tagline:
“Sometimes the voice that returns… brings your name along with it.”
The afternoon sun wasn’t too bright anymore.
Its rays filtered through the glass windows, spreading a golden hush inside Bayaan Café.
On table number seven, the same old cup of coffee had gone cold —
like an age of waiting that had quietly passed.
Nayra sat by the window, her gaze fixed on the road outside.
There was no promise walking that road anymore, no familiar footsteps.
And yet, something kept the silence alive.
The diary before her lay open, but she hadn’t written a new word —
as if everything had already been said,
only the one who could understand it had gone missing.
She ran her fingers over the pages —
as if touching a memory.
“Does any meeting ever become complete?”
she asked her heart.
And the answer came —
“No, only the incomplete meetings stay.”
On the other side, Aarav no longer came to that café.
But his presence still lingered like a scent —
in the walls, in the books he had touched,
in that chair that had once waited silently for him.
“You know, Nayra… some things are only Bayaan — never proven.”
That was his last line.
And perhaps, his truest one.
That day, a new face sat in the corner of the café —
a girl, quiet just like Nayra once was.
Her eyes were searching for something,
perhaps her own yesterday.
Nayra looked at her and smiled —
that smile which had now become a book.
At that moment, the air in the café carried a familiar scent —
of rain-soaked earth,
and of a feeling that once used to be Aarav’s presence.
Bayaan Café was no longer merely a place that served coffee.
It had become a refuge for stories —
a shelter for unfinished conversations,
a resting place for those who hung their words on the wall to feel lighter again.
Nayra listened now — carefully.
Sometimes to silence,
sometimes to unspoken love,
and sometimes, to her own beating heart.
🎭 Character Entries (Connecting to the previous chapters)
1. Neelofer:
Neelofer is the niece of the Café’s owner.
In her pauses and half-finished sentences hides a pain she has carried for years but never expressed.
She has returned from Delhi — carrying a broken marriage and exhausted dreams —
and now spends time in the Café, trying to gather herself again.
2. Hamnaaz:
Hamnaaz is a mysterious girl who often visits the Café.
She speaks little, but when she does, time seems to pause.
She lives nearby with her mother —
they say her mother was the Café’s first guest, even before it opened.
In Hamnaaz’s eyes lives the sorrow of an unfinished poem,
one she hides from the world.
3. Altaf (A new character, just arrived):
A weary writer, perhaps connected to Neelofer’s past —
or maybe searching for his unfinished story in Hamnaaz’s silence.
His secret is not yet revealed.
Bayaan Café – Part 4: “Saaya” (The Shadow)
The rain had stopped,
but streaks of water still clung to the windows —
as if someone had written questions that no one dared to answer.
Neelofer sat again at the same corner table,
where her last conversation with Hamnaaz had remained incomplete.
Before her lay an open diary,
but her pen was still —
as though her words were seeking permission from some unspoken pain.
Then the door opened —
not with the jingle of a bell, but a soft sigh that came with the wind.
A tall, dusky man walked in.
He carried an old satchel in his hand,
and centuries of weariness in his eyes.
There was no hurry in his walk,
as if time itself had no claim on him.
He went straight to the counter,
then, without asking, walked toward that same corner table —
the one Farhan used to sit at.
Neelofer looked at him for the first time.
For a moment, something old seemed to turn back —
there was a trace of recognition in her eyes,
something she wanted to remember… but the name wouldn’t come.
Hamnaaz softly asked,
“Who is he?”
Neelofer replied,
“Maybe… a shadow… from an old time.”
His name was Altaf.
By profession, he was a writer —
but he no longer wrote books,
he only read people’s silences.
He used to say:
“Every person is a book,
and every silence is its deepest page.”
Altaf started coming to Bayaan Café every evening.
He neither talked much nor asked much.
Yet his presence spread like calm —
like a gentle hand placed on a wound of time.
Neelofer now found it easier to write again.
Hamnaaz no longer seemed as restless.
And Altaf… he simply sat there —
as if he were that part of a story that was never written into the pages.
✨ The silence of Bayaan Café continues — between words, within hearts, and beneath the sound of rain that always returns. 🌧️
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! ✨
No comments:
Post a Comment