A Cup Full of Memories

In a quiet corner of an old city lived an elderly man named Baba Noor. He ran a small tea stall, nothing fancy—just a wooden cart under a neem tree with two benches and a kettle that had seen better days. But his tea was something special. People said he brewed not just with cardamom and cloves, but with love.

Every evening, a young boy named Arham would stop by on his way back from tuition. At first, he’d just sit silently, sipping tea and watching Baba Noor’s wrinkled hands move with grace. Over time, they started talking—about books, dreams, cricket, and life.

One day, Arham brought Baba Noor a small thermos. "So you can have hot tea even when it rains," he said. The old man smiled and touched his head gently. “You have a good heart, beta.”

As months passed, Arham grew busier with studies. Visits became rare. Baba Noor still kept a cup ready for him every evening—just in case.

Then came the day Arham passed his exams and got a scholarship abroad. He meant to visit Baba Noor before leaving, but packing, relatives, and farewells got in the way. “I’ll call him from the airport,” he thought.

But he never got the chance.

A month later, Arham returned during a short break. He rushed to the tea stall, a gift in hand. The cart was there, but someone else was serving tea.

“Where’s Baba Noor?” he asked, breathless.

The man looked at him kindly. “You must be Arham. He talked about you a lot.”

Arham’s heart skipped. “Is he…?”

“He passed away a few weeks ago. Left something for you.”

From under the cart, the man pulled out the old thermos. Inside it was a note:

“To my dearest Arham, thank you for being the warmth in the last winter of my life. This thermos never let my tea grow cold. Just like your company never let my heart grow old. – Baba Noor”

Arham sat on the same bench and cried softly. The tea that day wasn’t sweet, but it was the most meaningful cup he ever had.