The last tea stall..

 


The Last Tea Stall

A short story

At the edge of a forgotten town, where the railway tracks curved like an old man's smile, stood Rehmat Chacha’s tea stall—a relic of rusted tin sheets, the aroma of cardamom, and conversations suspended in midair. It was the last stall before the world melted into wilderness, where trains rarely stopped, and people only came when they had nowhere else to go.

Characters:

  1. Rehmat Chacha – The old tea vendor, owner of the last tea stall.
  2. Master Ji – A retired schoolteacher with endless theories on life.
  3. Lalita – A dreamy young woman waiting for a love letter that never arrives.
  4. Chhotu – Rehmat’s orphaned helper, who believes tea leaves can predict the future.
  5. Inspector Sood – A weary policeman who once had ideals.
  6. Bhagat Singh – A drunkard who claims to be a revolutionary.
  7. Mohan – A failed poet, rewriting the same ghazal for ten years.
  8. Madam Bano – The widow of a forgotten freedom fighter, who lives in memories.
  9. The Mysterious Stranger – A traveler who changes everything.

The Story Begins…

One evening, under a moon shaped like a broken bangle, the town’s familiar misfits gathered at Rehmat Chacha’s stall.

Master Ji stirred his tea. "You know, if you boil tea leaves exactly for four minutes, it reveals the truths of the universe."

Chhotu, wide-eyed, peered into the kettle. "Then Rehmat Chacha must know all the secrets!"

Rehmat Chacha chuckled. "Beta, the only secret I know is that everyone here is running from something."

Lalita sighed, folding and unfolding a pink envelope. "My Sajjad promised he’d write, but the postman only brings electricity bills."

Bhagat Singh raised his glass of watered-down rum. "Love? Revolution? Same thing. Both burn you alive."

At that moment, a train screeched into the station—an unusual event in itself. The people at the stall turned to watch. A man stepped out.

He was different. Tall, dust-covered, with a suitcase too small for a long journey but too large for a short one.

"Chai," he said, handing Rehmat Chacha a coin that looked like it belonged to another era.

A Town That Doesn’t Exist

The stranger sipped slowly, observing the small crowd. Then, he asked a question that silenced even Bhagat Singh’s drunken ramblings.

"This town… do you know it doesn’t exist?"

Inspector Sood frowned. "What nonsense? This town has been here for a hundred years!"

The man shook his head. "I came from the city looking for it. There’s no record of it anywhere. No maps, no census. It's as if this place was never real."

Mohan, the failed poet, muttered, "Perhaps some places exist only because people refuse to forget them."

The tea stall fell into silence.

Lalita clutched her letter, her eyes shining. "If this town doesn’t exist, then maybe the letter I’ve been waiting for isn’t lost. Maybe it was never written. Maybe it’s still waiting to be sent."

Bhagat Singh slammed his glass down. "And maybe I was a revolutionary in some world that never was!"

Chhotu, peering into his tea leaves, whispered, "Maybe we are all just a story someone forgot to finish."

Rehmat Chacha poured another round of chai. "Maybe. But as long as we keep drinking tea, the story isn’t over."

The train whistled. The stranger smiled. "I’ll come back next year. If the town is still here."

The train pulled away, disappearing into the night.

The tea stall, the conversations, and the town itself lingered in the air—like the last sip of chai before an uncertain dawn.

By Faraz Parvez

(Pen name of Professor Dr. Arshad Afzal)

Keep visiting farazparvez.blogspot.com for more stories, reflections, and literary explorations!


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