"Contest - Steemit Talent Hunt | Story Telling."

Assalam o Alaikum.My Beloved friends

How are you guys? I hope you are all good friends and I am also good friends with the Mercy of Allah. Buddies I am here to participate in the contest and It is held by @faran-nabeel . Everyone has a hidden talent. Some like to sing, some paint or art and some express by words. My talent is storytelling. When I was a childhood, I have loved to observing little things and turning them into meaningful stories that speak to the heart. Today, I am sharing one such story that is very close to me. It’s simple, emotional and carries a quiet power. I hope this story touch you the way it touch to me while I write it.

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Once a old woman lived in a quiet village that was encircled by green fields and dusty paths. His name was Bibi Amma. He lived in a clay house, under the shade of a neem tree, she always stood an old wooden chair plain, worn out, yet always dusted clean.
Villagers mostly noticed the chair. Children like to play around it. Question was that "why it remained empty? Why doesn’t anyone sit there?”. But nobody is there who could tell actual story.

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One day, a curious 10 years old boy named Faizan stopped after returning from school. With a school bag bouncing on his back and eyes full of questions, he looked at the chair, then at the old woman knitting silently nearby.
He questioned “Bibi Amma, this chair for who?”
She smiled, gently resting her knitting in her lap. “this is for my son,” she replied.
Boy asked “Where is he?”
She said “He promised me, ten years ago that he would return and sit on this chair. He told, he would tell me stories of city, his life, his dreams. I have set chair for him.”
Faizan felt heavy, he did not understand why. From that day on, he began visiting Bibi Amma every evening. He sat on the chair, at first awkwardly, but soon like it was made for him.

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He told her stories about his school adventures, cricket matches, jokes from class and dreams of becoming a writer. Bibi Amma would laugh, listen, and sometimes close her eyes as if trying to freeze those moments.
Time passed, Faizan grew up and left the village for college. Thar chair once again remain silent, empty and waiting.

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One winter day, Faizan returned. But this time, the chair was missing. So was Bibi Amma.
In her tiny room, on a wooden shelf, he found a note:
"Dear Faizan,
My son never came back, but Allah sent me another. You.
With your stories, you filled my empty days with light and remembrance.
Now, this chair belongs to you. Took it when the time is right."

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Faizan brought chair with him at home. He placed it under a tree, just like before. Again one day when a boy asked, “Who is this chair for?” Faizan smiled and answered, “this is for someone with a story to tell.”

🤔Conclusion:
Story telling is not only my talent, this is my way of connecting hearts, bridging time, expressing my feelings and keeping memories alive. This story shows how even an ordinary object, like a chair, can carry love, loss and new beginnings. I hope you feel the soul of this interesting story. Because in every story I share, there is a piece of me.

At last I am inviting @safdarali, @suboohi, @max-pro, @sadaf02 and @amnaliaqat512 for taking part in this contest.

Cc , @faran-nabeel

Regards , @aliraza1234