Bayaan Café | Tape #17
Tagline:
Zaria was a little quiet that day.
Ayaan looked at her — the notebook was open, the pen was in her hand, but the page was blank.
“What happened?” he asked.
Zaria didn’t reply. She just lowered her head slightly and closed her eyes — as if some sound was echoing deep inside her, one that wasn’t easy to bring out.
Nilofar came to her softly, placed a glass of turmeric milk in front of her, and said:
“Some stories aren’t meant to be written… they’re meant to be understood. Maybe today, you’re living one of those.”
Ayaan quietly opened his sketchbook and placed it before Zaria.
There was a drawing — a girl and a boy sitting on a swing.
The girl’s face had no lines, only her eyes — deep, calm, and a little tired.
“This is you,” Ayaan said. “But your face is empty… because I couldn’t understand what you’re feeling today. Should I try to help?”
For the first time, Zaria looked at him — and gave a faint smile.
“Today my story won’t be made of words… maybe it’ll be made of an old letter.”
Zaria took out an envelope from her bag.
Old, slightly folded, torn around the edges. She handed it to Ayaan.
“My mother gave this to me when she sent me to the hostel for the first time. I never opened it… I was scared.”
Ayaan softly said, “Shall we open it today?”
Zaria nodded.
Even Nilofar, Hammad, and the other corners of the Café seemed damp — as if the walls too knew that something big was about to happen.
Zaria opened the envelope.
Inside was a small sheet of paper — written in her mother’s handwriting:
“Whenever you feel that your heart has become lonely, know this — you are my most beloved story. I didn’t raise you with words, I raised you with dreams. — Mom”
Zaria’s hands began to tremble.
Ayaan held her hand.
“Should I paste this page into your notebook?” he asked.
Zaria nodded yes.
“So that next time, when I forget that someone loves me… I’ll remember that I was once someone’s favorite story.”
That day, no song played in Bayaan Café.
There was only silence — that said a lot.
Zaria’s eyes were moist, but no longer afraid.
Ayaan turned to the next page in his sketchbook and drew a picture of a mother — resting her hand on her daughter’s head.
And below it, he wrote:
“Some letters don’t need to be read — they just need to be felt.”
That evening, a new board was placed in the Café.
Nilofar and Hammad hung it on the wall together:
“Letters & Sketches Corner”
Where children don’t just tell their stories,
they write them — to their parents, and to understand themselves again.
The next Saturday, a little girl came — her name was Inaaya.
She had no notebook, no sketchbook.
Just a small toy in her hand, and many silences in her eyes.
Zaria made her sit beside her.
“Do you want to listen to a story or tell one?”
Inaaya softly asked,
“If I can’t speak, can it still be a story?”
Zaria held her hand and said:
“Sometimes, the truest stories are the ones never told — only felt.”
Ayaan drew Inaaya’s picture.
She was sitting under a tree — and in the sky above, clouds were shaped by her silences.
Zaria wrote under that painting:
“The Girl Who Spoke With Her Eyes — And Wrote With Her Silences.”
Bayaan Café was slowly becoming a home for children.
Every Saturday, a new story was added, every picture had an unfinished letter behind it, and every voice carried a quiet kind of comfort.
Zaria and Ayaan had become mentors now — but their friendship remained the same: blank notebooks, half-done sketches, and countless smiles.
One day, Nilofar asked Zaria:
“Sometimes I wonder, why do you all keep coming here?”
Zaria replied:
“Because the world outside teaches us to grow up… and the walls here tell us — just stay who you are.”
The last line of Tape #17:
“Sometimes, a notebook, a pencil, and a friend — are enough to rewrite your whole life.”
Bayaan Café | Tape #17
Tagline:
“Every story has its own time — and every time, becomes a story.”
Bayaan Café | Tape #18
Tagline:
“Sometimes, the longest journeys begin with just holding a small hand.”
That Saturday morning, there was a bit of commotion in the Café.
Zaria was sitting near the window, Ayaan was sketching,
Nilofar was at the counter —
when suddenly, the Café door flung open.
A small boy came running in — around seven or eight years old, eyes red, hair messy, breathing fast… and hands trembling.
Fear was written all over his face.
Zaria and Ayaan both stood up.
“What happened?” Nilofar bent down beside him.
The boy couldn’t speak — he just kept crying, clutching his tiny T-shirt tightly in his fists.
Nilofar gently pulled him close, “It’s okay, son, you’re here now… you’re safe.”
The boy said his name — Areeb.
“I lost my mom… there were too many people… then she was just gone…”
Nilofar gave him some water,
and then brought him to Zaria.
Zaria made him sit beside her.
Ayaan stood a little away, sketchbook in his hand.
Zaria looked into Areeb’s eyes —
there was panic there, and something else… something that shouldn’t be in a child’s eyes: the fear of being left behind.
“Do you like stories?” Zaria asked.
Areeb nodded.
“Then let’s make one together, the three of us.”
Ayaan tore out a sheet of paper.
Zaria said, “We’ll call it — The Boy Who Lost His Hand… But Found a Hug.”
Areeb smiled a little.
Zaria said, “Because when one hand slips away, another always appears — as an embrace.”
Ayaan began sketching.
There was a small boy surrounded by many blurry faces —
but in the middle stood a bright wall that read: Bayaan Café.
Behind the boy stood a girl — like Zaria —
wrapping him in a blanket made of wings.
Nilofar softly said:
“I’ve called the police… his parents might be looking for him.”
Areeb was calmer now.
Zaria took out her blue notebook, opened a blank page, and wrote:
“When you feel lost — sometimes, no one finds you… someone just meets you.”
Ayaan pasted that line under the sketch.
A little while later, a woman came running into the Café.
Tears filled her eyes, her voice trembled:
“Areeb!!”
Areeb turned his head…
and ran to her, wrapping himself tightly around her.
“Mama!”
Everything stopped.
Nilofar, Zaria, and Ayaan stood silently behind.
The mother folded her hands, saying,
“Thank you… thank you so much…”
Zaria just smiled and nodded.
“Sometimes a story exists only so that someone can find home again.”
That day, another frame was added to the Café wall.
The sketch Ayaan made was now placed on ‘The Lost & Found Wall.’
Below it was written:
“The Boy Who Was Found — Not By Name, But By Kindness.”
Now Bayaan Café had one more corner —
‘Areeb’s Corner.’
There stood the painting, with some blank notebooks beside it.
Nilofar also kept a small basket there, with a note that said:
“If ever a small hand gets lost — just open this notebook,
you’ll surely find it in some story.”
That night, Zaria wrote in her notebook:
“Childhood doesn’t lose to fear…
it only cries when no one calls its name in the crowd.
And when someone finally does —
it wears its wings again.”
Bayaan Café | Tape #18
Tagline:
“Sometimes, the longest journeys begin with just holding a small hand.”
🌍 Message for Readers
> Dear Readers,
No matter which country you’re reading from — India or abroad — if this story touched your heart, please share it with your friends and family.
Your comments mean a lot! Tell me in the comment section how you felt about this story, and let’s spread the warmth of Bayaan Café to every corner of the world.
— With love, Afsana Wahid
