☕ "The Third Morning at the Same Bakery – A New Turn"
The snow still hung from the rooftops. There was a gentle sunlight in the alley, and on the bakery's windows, the moisture from the cold air had settled.
Zoboriya had come a little early today. While arranging bread on the rack, her eyes suddenly landed on the corner by the window where Ehsaan had sat yesterday.
"Will he come again today?" she asked herself, but then fell silent — as if the heart didn’t really want an answer, just wanted to live on that hope.
🕒 "Unspoken Waiting"
By afternoon, some customers came and left. But that chair at the table remained untouched.
Zoboriya kept glancing toward the doorbell, but Ehsaan didn't come.
In the evening, while cleaning the counter, the door opened.
Ding...
📷 "He Returned – But Not Quite the Same"
This time he looked a little tired. Perhaps he had walked there. There was no snow on his coat — but the same still winter lingered in his eyes.
"I came late today," he said with a smile, "but this place has started to feel like an old friend."
Zoboriya nodded, and began making coffee without a word.
This time, he didn’t order black, but asked for a honey latte.
"A Few Photos, A Few Words"
As soon as he sat at the table, he picked up his camera and took a picture of the snowy streets through the bakery window.
"Your name is very beautiful," he said. "Zoboriya... does it have a meaning?"
She was startled — maybe after years, someone had shown interest in the meaning of her name.
"Yes... Mom used to say, it's an old Persian word. It means: 'One who cannot be forgotten.'"
Ehsaan was quiet for a moment.
"So do you also find it hard to forget things?" That question scratched an old surface in her eyes.
📜 "An Unfinished Story – That Ehsaan Didn’t Ask About"
She didn’t answer. But Ehsaan didn’t ask again either. He simply pulled out his diary — and started writing something.
From the way his fingers moved, it seemed as if he was writing someone else’s story... but the pain was his own.
🍃 "For The First Time – It Felt Like Sharing the Burden"
As he was about to leave, he paused at the door and said —
"If you don't mind... can I come again tomorrow?"
Zoboriya looked into his eyes for the first time. No smile, no words — just a gentle nod.
🌙 "That Corner in the Bakery – Was No Longer Just Hers"
That night, for the first time, Zoboriya didn’t take AbuZarr’s name. Her diary remained closed.
She looked out the window — where the snow had finally stopped falling, and in the moonlight, everything looked a little clearer.
📱 "An Instagram Note – Straight From the Heart"
It was a chilly evening in India. AbuZarr sat at his study table. Photos of Zoboriya still hung on the walls of his room — only visible to him.
His eyes were teary. Phone in hand, and his heart... stuck on one thought:
"Maybe... someday... she might read this?"
He opened his notepad, stared at the screen for a while, then slowly started typing.
"I was incomplete... before she came. But when she arrived — everything became whole. Every morning felt new, and every evening brought a strange peace.
She came like a voice to my soul. And now... since she's gone — everything is silent. Like a long, sorrowful poem of autumn."
"I'm searching for her... in every street, in every memory. Zuboo... if you're out there somewhere — just come back once. There is still so much left to say. And love... it's still here, exactly where you left it."
😞 I miss you, Zuboo. — AbuZarr
📤 "It’s Posted — Now Comes the Waiting"
He clicked 'Post' and placed his phone on the table.
AbuZarr closed his eyes. As if those words had come from his soul, not just the screen.
He didn’t know if Zoboriya even opened Instagram anymore. But hope... kept him going.
Sometimes we write our deepest feelings on the quietest platforms — hoping that the one who should read it, will.
📲 "That Post — Perhaps Destiny Delivered It"
It was a cold morning in Canada. The bakery had opened, and like always, Ehsaan sat by the window, with his camera on the table, and a book in hand.
Zoboriya stood behind the counter, eyes a little tired, but her face calm as ever.
Ehsaan took out his phone. Opened Instagram. Scrolled casually... until his fingers stopped at one post.
A half-written caption, a broken heart’s call... and the name — AbuZarr.
Ehsaan’s heart skipped a beat.
He read the entire post carefully. Every line carried depth, as if someone had woven their entire existence into those words.
“I miss you Zuboo...” That last line felt strangely familiar.
👀 "Zoboriya... Zuboo?"
Ehsaan slowly looked up — toward Zoboriya.
Could she be the "Zuboo"?
A few days ago, he had seen an old recipe book at the bakery with a note that read: Zuboo's cinnamon rolls
Back then, he assumed it was named after a child. But now...
🤔 "AbuZarr — The Missing Name in Her Story?"
A storm of thoughts flooded Ehsaan's mind.
Until now, the untold poems in her eyes were just mysteries. But now... he had a name behind those verses.
He knew — he couldn’t tell her everything, at least not yet.
But something had to be done.
☕ "Afternoon Talk — A Beginning of Friendship"
The bakery was a little empty that afternoon. Zoboriya made two cups of coffee, and placed one before Ehsaan.
“You’re very quiet today,” she said with a soft smile.
Ehsaan looked at her. Smiled, then gently said—
“Zuboo... that’s a lovely name."
Her eyes widened. Her hand froze.
"Where... where did you hear that name?"
Ehsaan didn’t lie, but he didn’t tell the whole truth either —
“Saw a post on Insta... by someone named AbuZarr. It was written from the heart. That’s where I read it..."
🕯️ "Zoboriya’s Silence — Ehsaan’s Understanding"
She said nothing for a while. Her eyes welled up.
She wanted to walk away, but Ehsaan's voice gently stopped her —
"If you ever want to talk... I’m here to listen. Not to judge."
From that evening onward... a true friendship began between Zoboriya and Ehsaan.
A friendship that listened in silence, and never asked for answers.
📩 "Will Ehsaan Ever Show Her That Post?"
Will Ehsaan ever tell Zoboriya that AbuZarr is still looking for her?
Or will Zoboriya stumble upon the post herself someday?
Is there still love for AbuZarr in Zoboriya’s heart?
📖 WHAT HAPPENS NEXT? (Story Direction)
As the story moves forward, three parallel emotions are destined to collide:
Ehsaan’s Inner Conflict
Ehsaan knows the truth.
Yet, he doesn’t want to reopen Zoboriya’s wounds.
He chooses to be a listener, not a saviour—
someone who offers presence, not solutions.
Zoboriya’s Unfinished Past
AbuZarr is not just a name from her past;
he is a chapter that shaped her entire life.
She did not run away—she was forced to leave.
And yet, she never shared her truth with anyone.
Her silence became her shield.
AbuZarr’s Waiting
AbuZarr is still writing.
Perhaps another post… perhaps a private message.
Or maybe one day, he will follow his heart all the way to Canada.
As the story unfolds, it pauses at the crossroads of choice versus destiny:
Is it always necessary to reveal the truth?
Or do some relationships survive only in silence?
🌱 WHAT DOES THIS STORY TEACH US?
Silence is not always weakness
Some people love not by speaking, but by enduring.
The past never truly ends—it only becomes quiet
What remains unfinished continues to breathe somewhere within us.
Not every truth needs to be spoken immediately
Sometimes, time is more compassionate than honesty.
Social media is not always a display of pretence
At times, it becomes the most honest voice of a wounded heart.
✨ NEXT SHORT PART
☕ The Fourth Day – A Name That Trembled the Cup
The next morning, snow returned—lighter, almost hesitant.
Zoboriya placed Ehsaan’s coffee on the table, but this time her hands trembled slightly.
“Do you believe,” she asked suddenly, without looking at him,
“that some people enter our lives only to remind us of who we once were?”
Ehsaan didn’t answer immediately.
“I believe,” he said softly,
“some people stay… even after they leave.”
Her breath caught.
Outside, a notification buzzed on Ehsaan’s phone.
AbuZarr posted a new story.
Ehsaan locked the screen.
Some truths don’t need to be read aloud.
They just need the right moment to be felt.
💌 A NOTE FOR READERS
Thank you for reading this story with patience and an open heart.
Every pause, every silence, and every unspoken emotion exists because of readers like you—who don’t just read words, but feel them.
Your presence gives meaning to this journey.
https://timespeakestruth.blogspot.com/2026/01/tata-harrier-2026-price-features-mileage-review.html
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