Bayaan Café | Tape #14
Tagline:
“Some stories aren’t measured by age — they’re measured by pain. And Zaria’s story is one of them.”
The café clock had just struck eight
when Zaria walked in with her blue bag —
her hair still a little damp,
perhaps her mother had hurried her through a bath.
Her slippers were slightly wet today —
the scent of rain-washed earth followed her inside.
Her eyes searched for that same corner, that same table…
and maybe for that same silence that had now become her closest friend.
“Good morning, Nilofar Aunty…”
she said softly, just as she always did —
like the first note of a gentle song —
quiet, yet full of trust.
Nilofar was behind the counter, slightly bent forward,
wiping the little wooden box on which Hammad had neatly written:
“Zaria’s Corner — where stories are built not by fairies, but by courage.”
“Good morning, little writer,” Nilofar replied,
pulling out that small yellow chair —
the one where Zaria would sit and unfold the layers of her thoughts.
That day, the Café felt different.
Because of the rain, there were fewer people,
but near the window, Hammad sat with an old camera in front of him —
capturing the café’s quiet moments, frame by frame.
Nilofar smiled and asked,
“Still afraid of memories?”
Without looking up, Hammad replied:
“Not anymore…
I don’t try to stop them now —
I just try to hold them.”
Zaria seemed a little restless that day.
She opened her wooden box
and took out a blue notebook —
on its cover, in her own handwriting, were the words:
“The Girl Who Was Not a Princess.”
Nilofar noticed a bit of dirt under Zaria’s fingernails —
perhaps she had picked up a leaf on her way.
“Did you write something new today?” she asked.
Zaria lowered her head
and slowly passed the notebook toward Nilofar.
Nilofar began to read:
“The girl built a bridge out of her silences —
a bridge where she could finally meet herself.
She couldn’t fly like the fairies,
but she had learned to be afraid —
and still, she walked.”
“One day she decided —
she would write her own story.
The story where
her mother hugs her quietly every night before sleep,
and her father, before leaving, always turns to wave goodbye.”
Nilofar’s eyes grew moist.
She brushed a strand of hair from Zaria’s face and whispered:
“Your story is beautiful…
and very brave.”
Zaria asked,
“Is it hard to be brave?”
Nilofar smiled —
a smile that came from the depths of an old wound.
“Being brave is always hard…
but if you are brave,
the world’s best stories belong to you.”
Then, a new face entered the Café.
A boy — perhaps fourteen or fifteen —
holding a sketchbook in his hands.
He looked around,
then walked over and sat beside Zaria.
Nilofar looked a little surprised,
but Zaria smiled —
as if she already knew a new character was about to walk into her story.
“Hi, I’m Ayaan,” the boy said.
“Zaria,” she replied —
softly, but without hesitation.
“Can I draw your story?” he asked.
Zaria glanced toward Nilofar, then said:
“If my story makes you feel something — draw it.
Because the best pictures aren’t written… they’re felt.”
A New Frame on Bayaan Café’s Wall
A few weeks later, Ayaan made a sketch —
Zaria, sitting with her blue notebook,
and around her floated letters and words,
as if they were turning into wings upon her shoulders.
Hammad placed the sketch on the brightest wall of the Café —
right beside the corner where Zaria always sat.
And beneath it, he wrote:
“The Girl Who Was Not a Princess —
But Was Brave Enough To Be Herself.”
From then on, the Saturday mornings of the Café changed forever.
Zaria wrote.
Ayaan drew.
Nilofar served them turmeric milk.
And Hammad played old songs in new tunes.
Sometimes, an old customer’s gaze would stop at that corner —
watching the two children
quietly weaving a new world —
slowly, but with complete truth.
Tagline – Tape #15:
“Where words learn to fly, childhood forgets to fear — and every corner becomes a story.”
Bayaan Café | Tape #15
Tagline:
“Where words learn to fly, childhood forgets to fear — and every corner becomes a story.”
Zaria no longer wrote alone.
Ayaan sat right across from her —
sketchbook in hand, pencil between his teeth,
sometimes lost in her words, sometimes listening to her silences.
“Why do all your characters fly?” Ayaan once asked —
he had drawn little wings on the corners of her notebook pages.
Zaria replied:
“Because when things break,
they learn to fly…
the ground hurts too much.”
Ayaan said nothing.
On the last page of his sketchbook,
he drew a girl —
she had no feet,
but wings behind her.
Their worlds were a little incomplete —
but somehow, they completed each other.
Zaria wrote,
Ayaan read and captured her world in his lines.
“Have you ever drawn your father’s picture?” Zaria asked one day.
Ayaan’s pencil froze.
“No. Never had the courage,” he said softly.
“Then draw it someday in my notebook,” Zaria said.
“Maybe there you won’t be afraid…
because in my stories, no one stays angry.”
Ayaan’s eyes shimmered,
but he said nothing.
Saturday mornings were no longer small.
More children had started coming to the Café —
some inspired by Zaria and Ayaan,
some simply curious.
Nilofar had set up a small rack for them —
“The Young Dreamers’ Shelf,”
where Zaria’s stories and Ayaan’s little paintings were kept.
Hammad began a new program —
“Story Saturdays.”
Zaria would read her stories aloud
while Ayaan drew live sketches beside her.
People would stop, listen, smile —
and the voices of children
lit up the Café’s old corners with new light.
One day, Zaria handed Ayaan a letter —
a small pink envelope
with the words written on it:
“Open this when you don’t like your sketches.”
Ayaan smiled,
“How will you know I’ve opened it?”
Zaria replied:
“When you draw your next sketch with a smile…
I’ll know the letter reached you.”
Nilofar once asked them both,
“How did you two become such close friends?”
Zaria replied:
“Because we both wanted to understand ourselves
more than the world.”
Ayaan nodded.
“Zaria doesn’t talk much,” he said,
“but even her silences are full of stories.”
That corner of the Café was now called
“Zaria & Ayaan’s Table.”
People came and went,
but every week, the two of them remained —
the girl who wove stories out of broken words,
and the boy who colored them with his quietness.
One day, Zaria handed her notebook to Ayaan:
“This story is unfinished…
because at the end,
the girl is about to tell someone her secret for the first time.
Can you draw her eyes?”
Ayaan smiled:
“I’ll draw them from your eyes —
because now I know,
your eyes don’t hold stories…
they hold entire lives.”
Bayaan Café was no longer just a place.
It had become a shelter —
for children who didn’t live in noise,
but built their worlds out of quietness.
Every Saturday, that corner would fill —
with tiny writers, young artists,
and big, big stories.
Nilofar and Hammad would sometimes watch from afar,
and sometimes walk up to say:
“Sometimes love doesn’t belong to a person —
it belongs to that quiet corner
where two broken souls learn to piece each other together.”
Tagline – Tape #16:
“Friendship doesn’t need age — only a shoulder where stories can rest for a while.”
“The Girl Who Was Not a Princess — But Was Brave Enough to Be Herself.”
Would you like that?
Dear Readers,
If this story touched your heart, please take a moment to read it completely, share it with your friends, and leave a comment below.
Your words mean a lot — they keep stories like Bayaan Café alive.
We’d also love to know from which country you’re reading Afsana Wahid’s stories!
Drop your country name in the comments — let’s see how far Zaria and Ayaan’s story travels across the world 🌍💫
With love,
Team Bayaan Café | Written by Afsana Wahid
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