A Calm… That Was Meant to Return
That night, AbuZar’s mother gently placed her hand on his shoulder.
There was no lecture in her voice. No insistence.
Only a quiet truth she had carried for him.
“Wake up tomorrow morning,” she said softly.
“And speak what your heart has been holding.
Whether you receive an answer or not…
At least your heart will no longer carry this weight alone.”
AbuZar said nothing.
Yet, for the first time in a long while, something shifted inside him.
A faint light flickered in his eyes —
as if a man long broken was slowly remembering
what it felt like to stand again.
The Next Morning
The sun had risen gently,
but its warmth failed to reach Zoboriya’s face.
She sat on the same bench once more —
the bench that had witnessed two goodbyes
within a single, unbearable day.
Her diary rested in her hands.
Beside her sat a cup of coffee — cold now, untouched,
as though warmth itself had abandoned her.
And then—
AbuZar appeared.
He walked slowly,
each step heavy,
each step carrying a confession he had buried for too long.
Zoboriya looked up at him.
She didn’t speak.
AbuZar sat down — not too close, not too far —
on the same bench,
within the same silence.
For a while, nothing moved between them.
Then, in a voice barely stronger than a breath, he said:
“Zoboriya… I left because I didn’t want to hand you my death.
But now I realize —
I couldn’t even give you the most important truth of my life.”
Zoboriya’s fingers trembled.
AbuZar reached into his pocket,
pulled out a folded medical report,
and placed it gently before her.
“This illness broke me,” he continued.
“But now… there is treatment. There is hope.
I just didn’t have the courage.”
His lips were dry.
His eyes were already drowning.
Zoboriya didn’t look at the report.
She only looked at him — as if searching for the man she once knew.
After a long, aching pause, she asked:
“And what do you want now?”
His voice cracked.
“Not time,” he whispered.
“Just forgiveness.
And if possible… one last evening —
where I can finally say everything I’ve held inside for years.”
Zoboriya stood up.
For a moment, it seemed like she would walk away again.
But then, without turning back, she said softly:
“7 PM tonight. Same café.
The place where you once told me —
‘I can read your silences better than any book.’”
And she left.
Café — 7 PM
Nothing had changed.
Old photographs still covered the walls.
Golden light spilled through the windows.
And a quiet melancholy sat patiently at every table.
AbuZar was already there.
Two mugs rested before him —
one for himself,
and one for waiting.
7:03 PM.
Zoboriya arrived.
She wore the same white scarf AbuZar had once given her —
a gift without a name,
yet filled with meaning.
She sat beside him this time.
Very close.
AbuZar spoke softly:
“I’ve lost many things…
but the most painful loss was the trust in your eyes.”
Zoboriya remained silent.
She opened her diary,
tore out a page,
and slid it toward him.
It read:
“I still don’t want to be tied to a name…
But if love is a silence —
then I want that silence to be with you.”
For the first time,
AbuZar smiled.
Two Silences — And a New Beginning
That night, words were unnecessary.
They sat.
They sipped their coffee.
And outside the window,
the moon seemed to pause —
as if witnessing a breath
that had once been unfinished
finally finding completion.
Epilogue — Months Later
A quiet bookstore.
Soft lights.
Pages turning.
Zoboriya sat at the launch of her first book.
Its title read:
“One Bench — Three Shadows — And an Unfinished Breath”
Near the stage stood AbuZar —
healthy now,
yet calmer than ever before.
He stepped forward and said only one line:
“Some bonds don’t break…
They just take time — to be complete.”
Safvan’s Life — A Silent Tale
Evening descended slowly.
Darkness clung to the city walls like a lingering memory.
Near the old railway station,
on a broken bench,
sat Safvan.
A worn-out bag lay beside him.
In his hands rested a torn diary —
filled with unfinished letters, forgotten names,
and memories sealed beyond repair.
Safvan —
a name that was once an identity,
now nothing more than a burden.
Once cheerful.
Once loved.
Once alive.
Now — a stranger to himself.
His life fractured at three irreversible moments.
1. His Mother’s Death
The day his mother died,
his smile left with her.
So did his prayers.
Her lap had been his world.
Without her,
the world turned silent.
2. Saba
She entered his life like rain —
gentle, fragrant, comforting.
Safvan had never loved anyone
the way he loved Saba.
But Saba didn’t want his narrow world.
She wanted the sky.
And Safvan was only barren land.
“I love you, Safvan…
but love doesn’t feed hunger.”
Those were the last words she ever gave him.
3. Learning to Hate Himself
With time, Safvan stopped expecting anything from life.
He asked nothing of relationships.
He questioned nothing.
He just kept moving —
city to city,
searching for the self he had lost.
Tonight
He opened the final page of his diary.
“Maybe I no longer wish to belong to any story.
Perhaps I am only a blank character —
whose life is written by someone else.”
Cold wind tangled through his hair.
The station lights flickered.
Sitting on that broken bench,
Safvan began tearing the pages of his diary —
as if erasing his own existence.
And then—
A voice called from behind:
“Safvan?”
He turned.
A girl stood there —
wrapped in a hijab,
tears trembling in her eyes,
her voice echoing like a forgotten prayer.
Her name was Rehana.
Who was she?
Why had she returned after all these years?
Would Safvan’s life finally find a new name?
Or would this story end
like so many others —
unfinished,
and forgotten?
Next Short Part
Next Part: “When Names Return”
That night, Safvan didn’t sleep.
Rehana’s voice kept echoing in his ears —
soft, familiar, painful.
He hadn’t asked her why she came.
He hadn’t asked how she found him.
Because some questions are too heavy
to be carried by a broken man.
As dawn approached, Safvan whispered to himself:
“If you’ve returned, Rehana…
does that mean my story isn’t over yet?”
Outside, the first train of the morning arrived —
and for the first time in years,
Safvan didn’t look away.
✅ Readers Message
You can paste this at the end of your story 👇
Dear Readers,
Thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading this story from 142 countries.
Your love, shares, and comments give me the courage to keep writing.
Wherever you are reading from, please tell me your country name in the comments.
Your support turns my silence into words.
Thank you — truly.
https://afsanawahidwrites.blogspot.com/2025/12/kandeel-jafar-hospital-drama.html
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