Abu Zarr — The Man Who Never Asked for a Picture
He wrote every day.
Sometimes just one word.
Sometimes a single line.
And then, gently, as if afraid of disturbing her thoughts, he would ask:
“What are you thinking today?”
“The weather feels beautiful…
but does the heart ever truly feel spring?”
Zoboriya replied
Sometimes in poetry.
Sometimes with nothing more than an emoji.
Yet beneath every reply, a question quietly waited:
“Who are you, Abu Zarr?”
“Why did you leave… when I never turned away?”
And the strange thing was—
he never asked for anything.
Not a photograph.
Not even her real name.
“Is love tied to appearances?”
“Or is it made of words that translate the rhythm of a heartbeat?”
Zoboriya — Who Knew Love Can Vanish Even After Recognition
She knew.
“This is Abu Zarr…
the same man who once left me unfinished.”
Now he hid behind a name,
yet never spoke his truth.
She typed many times:
“Are you the one who walked away without a reason?”
But every time—
she erased it.
Why?
“What if he denies it?”
“What if this bond shatters the moment it becomes real?”
A Night When Zoboriya’s Fingers Trembled
She stared at Abu Zarr’s message for a long time.
Just one verse:
“Some people are not dreams—
they are the reason sleep becomes frightening.”
She closed her notebook.
And for the first time,
she found an old photograph.
Evening light on her face.
A soft pink scarf.
Her gaze lowered, hair falling gently across her cheek.
“Should I send it now?”
She watched the screen for a long moment.
Then typed only three words:
“Can we meet?”
Abu Zarr — Startled, Yet Choosing Silence
He stared at the screen.
It wasn’t a question.
It was a threshold.
“If we meet… will everything become real?”
“Will she recognize me as the man who once broke her heart?”
He turned his phone face down.
His heartbeat raced.
That night passed in silence.
He didn’t reply.
Morning — When Zoboriya Questioned Herself
“Was I too quick?”
“Maybe he wasn’t ready…”
She checked her phone again.
Still nothing.
She closed the chat.
Yet a quiet stillness settled inside her.
That Same Day — Abu Zarr Opened an Old Diary
A page from years ago:
🖋️
“Zobo, I didn’t leave you.
I just lost to a moment where my presence only caused you pain.”
He turned the page and wrote again:
🖋️
“If you are still there, tell me.
I am no longer searching for your name—
I am searching for your eyes.”
Will Zoboriya Receive This the Next Morning?
Or will Abu Zarr hide again behind silence?
Or will Z — the shadow
leave a sign in her stories?
Z — The One Who Appeared Only at Night
Black-and-white profile picture.
ID: @InkbyZ
No name.
No face.
Just one post every few days—
like someone breathing inside her silence.
“I never speak.
So I hide my name in the quietest corners of your silence.”
Her heart trembled.
“Who is this?”
“Is it Abu Zarr… hiding his guilt?”
“Or someone else who knows me—but never steps forward?”
One Day, Z Wrote
“Some people are not meant to come close—
they are only meant to witness the broken pieces first.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
She didn’t reply.
Instead, she wrote in her diary:
“Z… if you are the one who lost me once,
send the verse that only we both know.”
Safwan — Who Sent the Verse With Trembling Hands
A quiet evening near the office coffee machine.
Her voice had been low, broken:
“The words were incomplete,
but the tea was full—
that’s why the evening still tastes sweet in memory.”
Safwan sent it as Z.
Only one line:
“Maybe you remember this.”
Zoboriya — Whose Breath Stopped
She stared at the screen.
She had never shared those words with anyone else.
“So… Z is Safwan?”
That night, she replied for the first time:
“Only someone sitting close could remember that.”
Then she asked:
“Who are you?”
“Abu Zarr?”
“Or Safwan?”
Z Fell Silent Again
The message showed Seen.
No typing.
No reply.
Because the truth was close now—
And truth is always the most frightening thing.
Evening — The Bench and Three Shadows
A light drizzle fell.
Outside the café, the same old bench.
An envelope lay there.
No name written.
“If you want the truth,
come here at 8:00 p.m. tonight.
I won’t be alone.”
— Z
8:00 p.m. — Three Heartbeats, One Silence
Abu Zarr arrived first.
Tired eyes.
An old notebook in his hand.
Zoboriya followed.
Pink scarf.
A trembling hope.
Safwan arrived last.
Plain jacket.
A coffee mug.
They stood.
Silent.
Z Was No Longer a Name — But a Trial
Zoboriya looked at Safwan.
“So… you are Z?”
He said nothing.
Only pulled out a note:
“Some people are not God—
but they stay beside you like prayers.”
Abu Zarr lowered his gaze.
“That line… I have read it before.
But I never sent it.”
Zoboriya — Who No Longer Needed Answers
She looked at Abu Zarr.
“You left me unfinished.
But unfinished things do not break—
they become roots.”
Then Safwan:
“You were Z.
You never claimed me.
You only stayed.”
One Final Question
“If my love survived without names,
can it survive now—
when everything stands exposed?”
Abu Zarr:
“I don’t need a reply anymore.
If you are at peace—
my love is complete.”
Safwan:
“I never wanted anything beyond love.
If you allow me—
I’ll remain Z.
Close enough.”
Zoboriya Did Not Choose
She opened her diary.
“I won’t choose today.”
“Whoever returns tomorrow—
will become my truth for today.”
She placed the diary between them.
And three lives paused
on one unfinished page.
🔹 NEXT SHORT PART
Part Two — The Morning After Silence
The bench was empty the next morning.
Only the smell of rain remained.
Zoboriya arrived first, holding her diary close to her chest.
She sat where the three shadows had stood the night before.
“Maybe love doesn’t return the next day,”
she thought.
“Maybe it returns only when you stop waiting.”
Her phone vibrated.
One message.
Unknown sender.
No name.
Just one line:
“Some people don’t come back to claim you…
they come back to make sure you are safe.”
Her breath caught.
She didn’t reply.
Instead, she wrote in her diary:
“If silence is choosing me today,
then I will listen.”
And for the first time,
she smiled without searching the crowd.
🔹 Readers Message
Dear Readers,
Thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading this story.
This story is being read from different countries around the world.
If you are reading it, please tell me in the comments which country or city you are reading from.
If this story touched your heart even a little,
please share it with your friends.
Your comments and shares give me the courage and motivation to keep writing.
Thank you for being here.
https://afsanawahidwrites.blogspot.com/2025/12/zille-huma-ka-agwa-kahani.html
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