Silent Questions — and an Untold Evening
The days that followed inside the bakery mirrored the season outside — cold on the surface, yet somewhere beneath that chill, a quiet warmth continued to breathe.
Ehsan came every single day.
Always the same seat by the window.
Sometimes his camera rested in his hands, his fingers adjusting the lens without urgency. Sometimes a book lay open before him, unread. And sometimes, he did nothing at all — only stared through the glass, watching snowflakes descend like unanswered thoughts.
Zoboria had begun speaking to him more now.
Small conversations. Gentle exchanges.
Yet even then, her replies often felt unfinished — like reading a page torn from the middle of a book, where the beginning and the end were missing, but the ache remained.
📜 A Piece of Paper
One quiet afternoon, when the bakery stood empty and the air felt suspended in stillness, Ehsan tore a small piece of paper from his diary.
He wrote carefully, slowly — as if every word mattered more than it should.
He slipped the note beneath his coffee cup.
When Zoboria came to clear the table, her fingers brushed against the paper.
She paused.
Unfolded it.
Only these words were written—
“Sometimes we don’t go looking for someone,
we just hope… they find us.”
She folded the paper again, carefully this time, and slipped it into her pocket.
She said nothing.
But that night, when she lay down in her small apartment, she placed that fragile note beneath her pillow — as though it might whisper to her in sleep.
🌙 A Cold Night in Canada — and a Restless Heart in India
That very night, across thousands of miles, Abuzarr paced restlessly in his room.
He refreshed his phone again and again, scrolling through likes and comments on his latest post.
Then he noticed a name he hadn’t seen before.
“ehsan.lens”
His thumb hovered.
He opened the profile.
Photographs filled the screen — bakeries, steaming cups of coffee, frost-covered windows, falling snow.
And in a few frames… a faint silhouette of a woman.
Blurry. Unintentional.
Yet something inside his chest shifted.
His heartbeat stumbled.
“Could this… be her?”
🌉 A Bridge — Slowly Forming
The following week, Ehsan uploaded a new photograph.
Zoboria sat by the bakery window, softly blurred, her fingers wrapped around a warm cup, a faint smile touching her lips — unaware she was being captured.
The caption read—
“Some people are like winter sunlight… rare, but warm.”
Abuzarr opened that photograph again.
And again.
He zoomed in.
Studied every shadow, every curve of familiarity.
From his lips, barely louder than breath, escaped a single name—
“Zuboo…”
🌆 An Evening — When Everything Could Change
The next time Ehsan entered the bakery, a small envelope rested in his hand.
He waited quietly until his coffee arrived.
When Zoboria placed the cup before him and turned to leave, Ehsan gently extended the envelope toward her.
“This isn’t for you… it’s for someone dear to you.
If you wish… you can give it to them.”
Surprise flickered across her face as she accepted it.
On the envelope, only two words were written—
“For Zuboo”
🕯️ The Envelope — She Couldn’t Bring Herself to Open
That evening, after closing the bakery, Zoboria returned to her apartment.
The envelope felt light in her hands — yet unbearably heavy in meaning.
She removed her coat.
Placed her shoes neatly by the door.
Sat on the couch.
And stared.
The words “For Zuboo” echoed inside her chest.
“Who… has spoken this name after so many years?”
The whisper barely left her lips.
🌙 A Night Longer Than Sleep
The silence of the room.
The soft hum of the heater.
The envelope resting on the table.
None of it allowed her rest.
Time and again, her hand reached for it — only to retreat.
As though opening it would tear down a door she had sealed long ago.
Finally, trembling, she opened it.
📜 Abuzarr’s Letter
Inside lay an old handwritten letter.
The ink had faded slightly, yet every word felt alive — as though carrying someone’s breath across time.
*“Zuboo,
I don’t know where you are.
I only know you’re still somewhere…
and maybe, you can still hear my silences.
This city, these streets, without you,
are like a book without its last page.
I tried to forget you,
but every attempt only wrote you deeper inside me.
If this letter finds you —
know that I’m still here.
— Abuzarr”*
Her fingers shook.
Tears welled in her eyes.
Yet no sound emerged.
Leaning her head back, she whispered only to herself—
“So… he still…”
☁️ Ehsan — A Silent Bridge
The next morning, Zoboria saw Ehsan sitting in his usual place.
Camera in hand.
But today, anticipation lingered in his eyes.
She placed a small note beside his cup.
“I read it.”
Ehsan lowered his head.
He asked nothing.
🕰️ Will Abuzarr and Zoboria Meet?
That night, Ehsan sent a message to Abuzarr—
“She read it.”
The reply came instantly—
“Where?”
Ehsan typed.
Paused.
And stopped.
☕ The Words That Had to Be Said
The next day, Ehsan arrived earlier than usual.
Zoboria smiled when she saw him.
She brought his favourite coffee.
“Only for you.”
He traced the rim of the cup with his fingers.
Silence stretched between them.
Something long held inside him pressed forward.
“Zuboo…”
Her eyelashes fluttered.
Her breathing grew heavy.
“The letter I gave you last night…
It’s not from someone else.
It’s from your past.”
She lifted her head.
Fear and fragile hope collided in her eyes.
“That letter… is from Abuzarr.
And I… met him.
Or rather…
he found me — through you.”
🕯️ Zoboria’s Silence
Her hands rested on the table, fingers tightly interlocked.
Words refused to come.
Her eyes spoke instead — filled with questions and old pain.
“He… still?”
Ehsan nodded.
“Yes.
And he wants to know… where you are.”
🌙 A Choice — Not an Easy One
She inhaled deeply.
Snow fell outside.
Inside her heart, old rain returned.
“I don’t know…
if meeting him would be right for me.”
Weariness and fear blended in her voice.
Ehsan set his cup aside.
“I will never make that choice for you, Zuboo.
But I promise…
whatever path you choose,
I’ll walk it with you.”
If you want next:
👥 Possible Age Group (Readers)
18+ to 45+
This story is especially suitable for:
Mature readers
Emotional and romantic fiction lovers
Readers who appreciate slow, meaningful storytelling
People who understand love, loss, and emotional depth
🌱 What Do We Learn From This Story?
This story teaches us that:
Some relationships do not end — they only remain unfinished.
Silence can carry more meaning than spoken words.
Love does not always disappear with time or distance.
Healing begins when we face the past, not when we run from it.
Sometimes, people become bridges in our lives — not destinations.
✨ Next Short Part (Teaser / Mini Continuation)
“The Message That Changed Everything”
That night, Zoboria stood by her window, watching the snow fall endlessly.
Her phone lay beside her.
Silent.
Then it vibrated.
A notification.
One message.
Unknown number.
She hesitated… and opened it.
“I don’t want to disturb your peace.
I just want to know —
are you safe?”
Her fingers trembled.
She didn’t reply.
But for the first time in years…
She didn’t delete the message either.
Outside, the snow kept falling.
Inside, something long frozen had begun to melt.
💬 Message for Readers (Reader’s Note / SMS)
Dear Readers,
Thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading this story — no matter which country you are reading it from. Your time, your emotions, and your presence mean more to me than words can express.
If this story touched your heart, please consider sharing it and leaving a comment.
Your comments and shares give me the strength and motivation to keep writing more heartfelt stories like this.
Your support is my biggest encouragement. 🤍
Thank you for being part of this journey.
https://timespeakestruth.blogspot.com/2026/01/tata-harrier-2026-price-features-mileage-review.html
https://afsanawahidwrites.blogspot.com/2026/01/doctor-bakhsh-kandeel-mohabbat-aur-shikayat.html
No comments:
Post a Comment