Bayaan Café | Tape #13 — “Those Mornings When Old Wounds Smile Softly”
The morning had fully awakened now.
Outside the café, a few cars passed by intermittently, dew rested gently on the flowers, and a faint flute tune drifted in from afar — everything felt just like something from a half-remembered memory.
But today, something was changing inside Bayaan Café.
Nilofar was no longer behind the counter.
She sat at a small table, and in front of her was not coffee in a white mug — but a glass of turmeric milk.
Perhaps the fatigue within her was now ready to turn into peace.
Hammad was still seated in the same corner.
But the old restlessness on his face was gone — as if the destination had quietly moved from his eyes into his heart.
No words were exchanged between them.
Yet in that silence, a connection stretched —
so fragile it could break if touched,
and so deep that eyes could drown in it.
Then the door opened again.
A little girl walked in — she must have been around seven or eight.
In her hand was a thin book, mischief sparkled in her eyes, and her heart carried a direct, innocent question.
“Excuse me… do you have Fairy Tales here?”
Nilofar was startled.
The café did have books — but those were old poems, letters left behind by strangers…
Fairy Tales?
Hammad smiled at her — as if a small question was demanding a very large answer.
Nilofar stood up and walked over to the girl.
“What’s your name?” she asked, bending slightly.
“Zaria,” the girl replied.
Nilofar looked into her eyes for a few seconds —
then, without saying a word, she went to an old shelf and pulled out a book that had probably been waiting a long time for someone to touch it.
“Here,” she said.
“This one doesn’t have a princess — but it’s about a girl who writes… and while writing, learns to fly.”
Zaria took the book in her hands, smiled softly, and went to sit in a corner seat.
Nilofar returned to her table. Hammad was still looking at her.
“When did you start loving children so much?” he asked.
Nilofar answered softly,
“Ever since I saw myself breaking and rebuilding like a little girl…”
Now, Bayaan Café’s doors seemed to welcome more strangers with every passing hour —
An elderly couple who came every Sunday morning to share newspapers,
A boy who brought a new story each time,
And a girl — Hamnaaz — who now always chose the same table,
where Altaaf no longer waited, but talked.
Suddenly, a slow tune began to play on the café radio —
the same one that Hammad had once found in Nilofar’s diary.
“When you meet me at this turn of time, say nothing…
Just understand this —
Some silences have turned into voices.”
Hammad spoke again.
“Nilofar, I want to write a story — not about the café, but about us.
But I want you to write it with me.”
Nilofar held his gaze in her palm for a moment.
There were no tears in her eyes anymore — only light.
“I’ve left many stories unfinished, Hammad…
But perhaps now it’s time for one story to be completed — in my name.”
The corner of Bayaan Café now felt brighter.
Soft orange sunlight spilled gently over the walls,
as if an old letter had started making sense without being read.
Outside, two leaves fell from the gulmohar branches —
one onto Nilofar’s book,
and the other beside Hammad’s glass.
Zaria had already closed her Fairy Tales book.
“But this story doesn’t have a princess meeting a prince,” she said innocently.
Nilofar smiled.
“Sometimes, when the princess finds herself,
that’s when the story truly ends…”
Bayaan Café | Tape #13
Tagline:
“Sometimes we don’t need someone else’s love —
we just need to meet our own unfinished story.”
Who was Zaria?
No one really knew where she came from,
or who had sent her to the café.
But there was something in her eyes
that took Nilofar years back —
to the memory of a girl who once searched for truth inside stories.
Zaria was a quiet child —
she didn’t talk much,
but she saw everything.
Every wall, every face, every book —
as if each was part of an old dream.
Her truth was simple — but heavy.
Zaria studied at a nearby school,
where one of Nilofar’s old friends used to teach.
She often sat in the library, silently reading books —
but Fairy Tales weren’t her first choice.
She loved those stories
“where no one runs away… but dares to pause and meet themselves.”
Her mother was a nurse, her father a truck driver —
and amidst the struggle of daily life,
that little girl searched for a place
where no one would stop her,
where she could talk to herself — and understand herself.
Bayaan Café — her little world
When Nilofar handed her that book —
“the one with no princess, but a girl who learns to fly” —
Zaria smiled for the first time.
She chose the same corner where Hammad usually sat —
but that day, Hammad didn’t stand up.
He just looked at her —
as if a long-lost dream had quietly returned.
“Why do you like Fairy Tales?” Hammad asked softly.
Turning a page, Zaria replied:
“Because everything becomes good in them…
and right now, I really need things to be good.”
An Old Fountain Pen and a New Story
Nilofar showed her the empty pages
at the back of the café menu.
“If you couldn’t find a Fairy Tale —
why not write a new story yourself?”
Zaria’s eyes lit up.
“So… can I really write a story, Nilofar Aunty?”
Nilofar took her hand gently and said:
“Sometimes, the best stories
are the ones a child writes with her silences…”
A New Tradition at Bayaan Café
Now, every Saturday morning, Zaria comes to the café.
A small wooden box is kept for her —
where she leaves her stories.
Hammad even made a small sign for it —
“Zaria’s Corner – Where stories are made not by fairies, but by courage.”
Nilofar often reads her stories quietly…
and whenever Zaria writes something truly special,
Nilofar adds a pinch of cardamom to her haldi milk —
because Zaria says,
“Things that smell of cardamom can never be sad.”
And now…
Everyone who comes to Bayaan Café knows —
there’s a little girl sitting in one corner,
who isn’t afraid of fairies,
nor of the dark,
only a little afraid of being alone…
But she isn’t alone anymore.
Because Zaria has now become a story —
Nilofar’s,
Hammad’s,
and of everyone who finds softness in their own brokenness.
Tagline — for Tape #14:
“Some stories aren’t made bigger by age —
but by pain.
And Zaria is one of them.”
🌸 A Word to Our Readers
If this story touched even a small corner of your heart —
then do share it with someone who still believes that stories can heal.
Your one comment, your one share,
can help Bayaan Café reach those hearts
that might be waiting for a little warmth, somewhere far away.
💌 Whether you are reading this in India or from any corner of the world,
your words, thoughts, and love mean the world to us.
So please —
👉 Read it, Share it, and Leave a Comment below.
Tell us which part of Bayaan Café | Tape #13 stayed with you the longest…
because sometimes, your voice becomes someone else’s comfort.
Writer Afsana Wahid
https://afsanawahidwrites.blogspot.com/2025/10/mdr-baksh-kandeel-romantic-urdu-story.html
https://timespeakestruth.blogspot.com/2025/10/mahindra-zeo-electric-commercial-vehicle-launch-2024.html
