Scene 1 – Rain From The Eyes
The café lights were dim. Rain whispered softly against the glass. It was closing time.
Basim finished wiping the last table and looked around. Peter had already left. Mufasa was upstairs. Only Lily and Rick remained.
Lily sat near the window, staring at the streetlight outside, her tea untouched.
Rick leaned against the back wall, slowly running his fingers across his guitar strings, not playing—just feeling.
Basim walked over and pulled out a chair beside Lily.
Basim held her hand gently.
Basim:
"You've been quiet today."
Lily gave a weak smile. The kind that doesn't reach the eyes.
Lily:
"I just… didn't feel like pretending today."
She looked back at the window, watching the raindrops slide down like falling memories.
Lily:
"You ever feel like the world is just… empty?"
Basim didn't answer. The question wasn't meant to be answered.
Lily:
"I look at people, laugh with them, smile at them… but deep down I know they'll leave. Or lie. Or use you. That's what humans do best."
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
Lily:
"I stopped believing in people a long time ago."
Rick's guitar made a dull note. He was listening.
Basim glanced at her, his heart tightening.
Basim:
"What happened to you, Lily?"
She paused. Her eyes stayed on the window.
Lily:
"My mom left when I was nine. No reason. No goodbye. Said she needed time. I waited for her every birthday… for five years. Then I stopped."
She looked down at her hands.
Lily:
"My dad changed after that. He started drinking. Got angry over little things. One night… he slapped me so hard I couldn't hear for an hour."
She held her breath.
Lily:
"I used to cry in silence. Then one day… I just stopped crying."
Rick put his guitar down and sat on the other side of her.
Rick:
"She's not the only one who stopped crying."
He looked straight ahead, voice calm but lifeless.
Rick:
"My brother killed himself when I was thirteen. He left a note, but it didn't make sense. Just said: 'I'm tired.'"
He stared at the floor.
Rick:
"I was too young to understand it. But now I do."
Basim looked between them, his chest feeling heavy.
Rick:
"After that, people treated me like glass. Like if they touched me too hard, I'd break. But they never asked me how I was. They just looked sad… and left me alone."
He shook his head.
Rick:
"I started talking less. Thinking more. And what I saw in people… it was ugly. Fake smiles. Empty promises. Selfish love."
He laughed — a short, bitter sound.
Rick:
"I lost faith in humans before I even turned fifteen."
Lily wiped her eyes, even though no tears had fallen.
Lily:
"I help people because it makes me feel human. But sometimes I wonder… maybe we were never meant to feel this much pain."
Rick nodded slowly.
Rick:
"Maybe caring is the curse."
Basim sat quietly, trapped in their truth. Two of the kindest people he knew... were bleeding inside. Smiling on the outside. Dying on the inside.
The rain outside grew heavier.
And for the first time, Basim wondered—
maybe the world wasn't just unfair…
maybe it was broken beyond repair.
---
Scene 2 – The House That Served Everyone
Basim visited Uncle Ben's flat that evening. The rain hadn't stopped, and his slippers were soaked. Radhika opened the door with a tired smile.
They had always treated him kindly — like family. Their small flat smelled of cardamom and old wood. Mayank was in his room, loud music playing behind a closed door.
Basim sat with them in the small living room. The fan above clicked with every rotation.
Uncle Ben poured tea for everyone, then sat with a sigh.
"You know, this house… it never says no to anyone."
He gave a tired smile and looked around the room like he was remembering something distant.
"We've fed people who never came back. Helped neighbours who forgot our names. Lent money that was never returned."
Radhika placed a biscuit on Basim's saucer and sat beside her husband.
"Once, during lockdown, we had only five kilos of rice left. We gave half to a family next door because their kids were crying."
She looked down at her lap.
"No one remembers that now. Not even a thank you."
Uncle Ben nodded slowly.
"I worked thirty years in a shop I didn't own, doing double shifts. When my back started hurting, they let me go. Said they needed someone younger."
Basim listened quietly, his heart sinking with every word.
"We helped a boy from the building last year. He had no job, no money. We let him stay here for two weeks. He left without saying goodbye."
Radhika's voice cracked.
"Sometimes, I wonder if kindness is just… weakness."
Uncle Ben looked at her and gently placed a hand over hers.
"We didn't do it for thanks. But still… it hurts when people act like you never mattered."
Basim remembered how many times he had seen strangers walk in and out of their house — borrowing tools, taking food, asking favours.
All of them smiled.
None of them stayed.
Uncle Ben leaned back in his chair.
"Now we just keep to ourselves. You give too much, people start treating you like a free shop."
There was silence. The kind that says more than words ever could.
From Mayank's room, music got louder. A love song. Out of place.
Basim looked around the small room. The old clock ticked on the wall. The tea went cold. The house felt full… but empty at the same time.
And deep inside, he saw it clearly —
The kindest people he knew… were the ones everyone used and forgot.
---
Scene 3 – Not Just a Café
The rain had stopped by morning, but the clouds still hung heavy.
Basim reached the café early. The shutters were half-open. Inside, Mufasa was already at the counter, arranging cups like always.
Peter was fixing the bean machine, focused and quiet.
Everything looked normal. Peaceful, even.
But peace is often a good liar.
Mufasa noticed Basim and nodded.
"Early today. Couldn't sleep?"
Basim shook his head. Mufasa smiled — the kind that hides too much.
Peter didn't say anything at first. He kept working, wiping the machine like it had hurt him.
Then, out of nowhere, he spoke.
"You ever give your all to something and still get blamed for everything?"
Basim looked at him, surprised. Peter rarely talked.
Peter kept wiping.
"I worked at my cousin's shop for two years. No salary. He promised he'd make me partner. One day, he fired me. Said I was stealing."
He placed the cloth down gently.
"I didn't even take a biscuit from that place."
Mufasa stopped stacking cups. His hands slowed.
"People turn on you when they don't need you anymore."
He walked around the counter and leaned on the table.
"I had a business partner once. We built this café together. He managed the money, I ran the floor. When things picked up, he disappeared with everything — including my wife's gold."
Peter looked up.
"I didn't know that."
"No one does," Mufasa replied. "I paid the price, but I stayed quiet. Pride doesn't feed you. So I built it back. Alone."
There was a moment of silence.
Peter whispered, "I think… I'm tired of being the only one who stays loyal."
Mufasa nodded slowly.
"You think you're building a family. But most people just build a ladder out of you — then climb it and kick it away."
Basim stood still, watching both of them. He had worked here for months. Smiled with them. Laughed. Never knew.
Mufasa turned to Basim and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"This place? It's not just coffee and games. It's a shelter. For people who've been used... and still show up."
Peter smiled for the first time that morning.
Basim didn't speak. There was nothing to say.
But he understood now —
even the strongest walls had cracks.
Even the busiest hands carried sorrow.
And even the café, with all its joy and noise…
was built on quiet heartbreak.
---
Scene 4 – Wounds You Can't Post Online
Afternoon light poured into the café, soft and golden. The rain had finally stopped, leaving the streets wet and shining like glass.
Mary sat near the window, sketching something gently. Lily sat beside her, warm coffee in hand, watching the world pass by in silence.
Nancy walked in with her usual style — sunglasses, perfume, high heels. She sat across from them with a sigh, placing her bag on the table like it was made of diamonds.
"This café seriously needs a VIP section," she muttered, brushing invisible dust off her seat.
Before anyone could reply, the door burst open and Mayank walked in — soaked, smiling, and holding a paper bag high.
"Guess who found the best samosas in the city for fifteen bucks!"
Nancy gagged dramatically.
"Ugh. Why are you always showing up like a food delivery guy from the 90s?"
Mayank walked to their table proudly, holding the greasy bag toward her.
"It's not just food, it's art. Hot, spicy, affordable art."
Nancy leaned back.
"Your art smells like poverty."
Mayank winked, took a bite, waved to Basim, and walked out like a hero who didn't care about the critics.
Lily giggled. Mary smiled softly.
Nancy shook her head.
"I can't stand people like that."
Mary tilted her head.
"People like what?"
Nancy took off her sunglasses and finally looked up.
"Poor. Loud. Smiling like life's a gift when they've got nothing."
There was a pause. Even the café music seemed to lower its volume.
Lily raised her eyebrows but stayed silent.
Mary gently asked, "Why do you hate them so much?"
Nancy looked down for a moment, then leaned back and exhaled.
"I was seventeen. Fell in love with this guy. He was broke, but sweet. Said all the right things. Promised he'd marry me."
She stared at her nails.
"I sold my iPhone to help him with rent. He disappeared three days later. Left me a message: 'You're rich, you'll recover. I'm just surviving.'"
She looked out the window, eyes a little colder now.
"Since then, I trust money. Not mouths."
Mary closed her sketchbook.
"That wasn't poverty. That was betrayal."
Nancy didn't answer.
Mary's voice softened.
"I know how it feels to be used. I used to think if I was always there for people, they'd be there when I broke."
She looked at her hands.
"But when I did… no one even noticed."
Nancy glanced at her.
"You?"
Mary smiled without joy.
"Yep. Quiet, helpful Mary. The girl who listens to everyone but speaks to no one."
Lily reached out, gently placed a hand on Mary's shoulder.
Mary looked at both of them.
"You build everyone else's house. Then one day, when yours burns down, you realize… no one brought water."
Basim stood behind the counter, silent, absorbing every word.
Three girls. One table.
Each carrying a story that money, kindness, or silence couldn't fix.
The café smelled like coffee, rain… and truth.
---
Scene 5 – The Door That Opened at Closing Time
The café had fallen quiet.
Tables wiped. Lights dimmed. The scent of roasted beans still floated in the air. Outside, the street was nearly empty — just reflections of passing headlights in puddles.
Basim wiped the last glass slowly. His thoughts still wandered through the stories of Lily, Rick, Mary… even Nancy. The smiles. The pain. The weight no one ever spoke of — until now.
The bell above the café door chimed.
Mufasa walked in, coat folded over his arm, smiling lightly.
"You're still here?" he asked.
Basim nodded. "Just closed."
Mufasa stepped aside.
Behind him walked a man.
Tall. Wrapped in a long black coat. A short grey beard traced his jaw. His eyes — quiet, but deep, like they'd seen too much. He didn't smile. He didn't speak. He simply stepped inside like the room had been waiting for him.
Mufasa clapped a hand on Basim's shoulder.
"This is Salazar. Old friend of mine. He'll be taking care of this place while I get the new branch running."
Basim nodded politely.
Salazar simply looked around. One glance was enough — as if he already understood the café without needing to know its details.
He turned, slowly walking toward the window.
Basim hesitated, then called out softly:
"Have you… been here before?"
Salazar didn't stop walking.
But he replied — voice low, steady, and sharp like a whisper that cuts deeper than a shout.
> "I go where silence forgets to lie."
Basim froze.
That voice.
His eyes widened.
The stranger in the rain… the one who gave him directions without turning...
It was him.
Salazar.
Basim looked toward the window. But Salazar had already vanished into the back room.
No goodbye.
No name.
Just one line… and a thousand questions.
The café was dark now.
But for Basim, something had just lit up.
---