"Ek Adhoori Baat" (An Unfinished Conversation)

The evening sun cast a golden hue over the narrow lanes of the old town. On a creaky wooden bench outside a small tea shop sat an old man, Rehman Chacha, pouring two cups of chai like he did every day for the past four years. One for himself, and one for someone who never returned.

People had stopped asking long ago why the second cup remained untouched. They knew it was for Aman—his only son.

Aman was full of dreams, always scribbling ideas on the back of receipts, dreaming of moving to the city, opening a business, making his father proud. Rehman Chacha, a humble tea seller, had poured every rupee he saved into his son's dreams. He didn’t mind working extra hours or skipping meals—he just wanted Aman to fly.

And Aman did fly—right into the heart of a bustling city, armed with ambition and a worn-out suitcase. Calls became less frequent. Messages turned into one-word replies. Until one day, there was silence.

Two years later, the police came with a wallet and a phone, found on a lifeless body under a collapsed building. An accident. A hit-and-run. No witnesses. Just a father left to bury memories.

But Rehman Chacha didn’t believe Aman was gone. Not truly. Every day, he poured that second cup, whispering, “Beta, aaj ka din kaisa tha?” (Son, how was your day today?)

He never got a reply. But he kept talking.

One winter night, the tea shop stayed closed. Locals found him sitting on the bench, eyes closed, a faint smile on his lips, and two cups of cold tea by his side.

One untouched.

One empty.