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Everyone Has A Story by Savi Sharma Pdf Download. Everyone has a story. Meera, a fledgling writer who is in search of a story that can touch millions of lives . download The Girl Who Knew Too Much: What if the Loved One You Lost Were to Come Back? Book Online at Low Prices in India | The Girl Who Knew Too Much: . Everyone has a story is set in a cosy cafe named Kabir Cafe. Savi Sharma is an author of this great book.
I was still held by his gaze, but I absorbed his words and heard others around me chuckle. But your lies are good lies.
They change people and mostly for the better. I wish you the best, he said warmly. Thank you, I managed to say, shivering a little at his words, even though the caf was almost uncomfortably hot. You are most welcome. With that, he started looking for someone else to ask his next question. He turned his attention to a young man behind me. Sir, what do you do for work? Whats your story? I had been so engrossed in his words that I hadnt noticed the man earlier. I turned around to see who he was speaking to and found a smart, handsome guy around my age.
His black casual blazer suited his brown eyes and short dark hair and there was an air of confidence about him as he sat straight in his chair. I was surprised that I hadnt noticed him before. I work as the assistant branch manager at Citibank, the young man answered. His voice was deep and rich. Mehra continued his questions. What is it that you demand from life?
Is it the thought of success, money or fame that brings you true happiness? I found myself leaning toward the man behind me, curious to hear how he would answer. The man cleared his throat.
I have money, status and success, but I am still not sure what my purpose really is. I do know that there are days I want to escape the life I am living and grab my bags and just travel. He trailed off and it seemed like his mind was already on those journeys. The writer pressed him. What do you think you will find when you travel? There will be no one who will follow me around, demanding things from me, he responded.
There will be no one pressuring me to meet deadlines. Money comes with a price, and for me, the price is both freedom and a real life.
I hope someday I can make up my mind to chase my dreams. The young man sipped his black coffee as he completed his answer. I saw his shoulders relax a little as he savoured the dark blend. Mehra nodded his understanding before he swept his eyes over the audience once more.
Holding up his hand, he said loudly, I hope the same for all of you here. Go ahead and make your dreams come true. As his last words were spoken, concluding the event, the caf filled with loud applause. I joined in, clapping so loudly, my hands began to tingle. I had come to hear the writer, but Id found myself deeply impressed, inspired and intrigued by the young mans answer.
I wanted to learn more about him. It was a bold move, and I took a deep breath before turning around to speak with him. But his chair was empty, a half-filled coffee cup sat on the table. I stood up, my eyes searching the room for his dark suit, and I spotted him leaving the caf. I will see you next time, I muttered, determined. He might have escaped for the moment, but the excited pounding of my heart told me that I had found my story.
So you finally found a story to write! I returned his warm smile and responded with a hint of excitement in my own voice. Well, yes.
At least, I have a start. He slid into the comfortable red chair across from me. Thats great. Tell me what you are writing.
I shrugged my shoulders, suddenly shy. How could I give him a synopsis when I barely knew where my mind was taking my fingers? I sighed. Its about a traveller. Interesting, Kabir responded. May I read what you have written so far? Tilting my head to the side in deep thought, I responded honestly, I am not sure if its worth a read. My friend narrowed his eyes at me and ran his hand over his head. You never know!
Come on, now show me. I turned the notebook around to let him read my precious words. I gulped. I hadnt been expecting him to read it out loud.
I want to travel, travel the whole world. I want to go on a road trip. Stop at random places and explore their beauty. Run through the woods chasing a butterfly. Talk to new people with different cultures and different lifestyles. Listen to their stories; sit on a park bench in the sun.
Enjoy every sunrise and sunset, sometimes from a hilltop and sometimes behind the trees. I want to spend hours beside a rushing river, feeling the wind in my hair and listening to the secrets hidden in the waves. Write a poem about the coldest, cloud-bound mountains and all five oceans. I want to cross my boundaries.
I want to admire nature, and wonder at the magic of its creation. I want to make memories. I want to feel alive. I want to feel the Creator. I want to feel myself. His hand moved and I watched him turn the page. He read silently for a moment and I waited anxiously for him to continue. My heart was pounding, almost painfully.
Life is not meant to be caged in your hometown, but it should be a wondrous place to be explored. I must explore all the nooks and crannies of this world.
It has been a long-time dream of mine and, as I set out to do this, I realize that this must be what it feels like to be a baby bird, perched on the edge of its nest, ready and anxious to fly to other places. I sometimes pity humans for not being able to migrate the same way animals can.
There are no boundaries for animals, except what they are incapable of doing for themselves. Humans seem to be the only creatures who say they live freely, but they are bound by the restrictions they place for themselves. We are not just bound to our work, but to our homes.
We do not roam. We live in a small, isolated locationa cage would perhaps best describe it. We have an area for business and we have an area where we eat the same foods and meet the same types of people. Pune has turned into that cage for me. I know everything there is about Pune, but like a lion in the zoo, I crave the freedom of standing on a rock and looking down at the kingdom below me.
I want to see the birds flying, the elephants bathing happily in their watering hole and the gazelles running freely. That is the freedom which humankind was granted, and I am about to capture it by chasing my dreams across the horizon. Kabirs voice drifted off and he sat in silence. Trying to be patient, I traced my fingers over the rim of my coffee cup, then down the side, catching a random drop.
Absently, I lifted my finger to my lips and licked it. Still, he said nothing. Finally, I nearly yelled the question. What do you think? I asked with a mixture of excitement and dread.
How is it? He broke into a huge smile. Its lovely, Meera! I think it will touch millions of hearts, Kabir said enthusiastically. He nodded and I let out a nervous laugh. Thank you! Kabir turned my diary back around, patting it happily.
I would love to read more when you continue your story! I am sure as the story unfolds it will be even greater. Promise yourself one thing: never stop writing, Meera! My friend stood, straightened the creases in his pants, and went back to work. I stared at the words on the pages, fisting my hands in silent triumph over the pen. I was just happy to know he liked it. Before I could start to write again, a young girl with the brown caf apron walked over to me and handed me a folded napkin.
I looked at her questioningly and, silently, she signalled for me to open it. Curious, but confused, I lay the pen down and unfolded the napkin. I looked up at the girl. Who wrote this? I asked. She turned back and pointed to a chair a few tables away.
But there was no one. I dont understand, I said. She frowned for a moment, but then her face eased into a smile. With a nod toward the caf exit, she said, That young man said to give it to you.
It was the traveller. He had escaped again. I stood up and rushed over to the counter. Who was he? I asked Kabir. He is the assistant branch manager at Citibank on Telak Road, Kabir said helpfully.
Hes been here several times since last month. I bit my lip in thought. Last weekend he was at the authors meet as well. Has he told you his name? My friend shook his head and absently cleaned the counter between us. He doesnt talk much. However, I do know his name because he pays by credit card every time.
His name is Vivaan. Vivaan, I repeated, tasting the name on my tongue. When does he usually come to the caf? Kabir shrugged.
Oh, when I say he is regular, he comes in often, but there is no fixed time. He drops by anytime he feels like it. I thought for a minute. Do you think you could text me the next time he drops by? Sure, Kabir said.
But why are you asking so much about Vivaan? He is the traveller about whom I am writing the story, I answered. I couldnt help but grin as I left the caf with Kabir standing there, his mouth open in shock. My mind was definitely not on the office building I was walking into. In fact, I almost resented having to go to work at all. That was unlike me. Yes, I wanted to be free to travel, but I tried to make the most of where I was.
Life had dealt me some rough blows, but I was always grateful for the constants in my life, my job being one of them.
My shoes squeaked on the polished floor, announcing my arrival before I could even get to my office. I couldnt wait to get past the sterile entrance and escape to my own area, where my shoes wouldnt make a sound. Sir, the receptionist called after me. I groaned; so much for a quick escape. I turned to her, with what I hoped seemed like a genuine smile. It wasnt her fault that at this very moment, I hated my job. I have several messages for you.
Your voice mail box is full again. Now, my smile was not faked. Im sorry, I said apologetically. I appreciate you taking the messages. Its quite all right, she said happily. I reached out and, as I took the slips of paper from her hand, her fingers brushed against mine.
It occurred to me how attractive the receptionist was, but that was not where my interest was focused. The woman crowding my mind was the young woman who had sat in front of me during Arjun Mehras talk the other day, the same woman who was breathlessly talking to the caf manager a short time ago.
I did not go back to the caf seeking her out; at least, thats what I told myself. I merely wanted the best cup of coffee in the district. But she was there when I arrived. I was almost disappointed when she did not notice me, but after I sat down, I caught wisps of her conversation with Kabir. Kabir spoke the words, but in my mind, I heard her voice echoing as the sentences replayed like a favourite song. The words could have been written for me, I mused as I sat down in my soft leather chair, immediately pivoting to look out the window.
But thats foolish. She couldnt know my hearts desires. As she and Kabir had talked, I could hear the hesitation in her voice. She lacked the courage to present the talent that she possessed. I hoped she wouldnt give up; I could sense her writing was as much her dream as travelling was mine.
I blushed, thinking about the impulsive note I had left for her. It was meant to be taken one of two ways: her writing definitely had a deep beauty to it. But as spellbound as I was by her words, I was even more drawn to the girl.
She was petite, I laughed as I recalled, but amazing. The night she sat in front of me, I stared long and hard at her back, silently begging her to turn around. Her thin legs were tucked delicately under her chair, and I couldnt stop thinking about the soft brown skin that was too hidden by her flowing blue skirt.
But, mostly, I wanted to lose myself in her deep twin dimples and her dark eyes. Barely noticeable when she was concentrating, her brilliant smile brought multiple layers to her face. Like two angels were kissing her at the same time. I shook my head to clear her image from my mind. I vowed to go back the next day, to see if she had any reaction to the hastily-written note Id asked the waitress to hand her.
Id hurried away before; I would not hurry away a third time. I wanted to learn more about this blossoming writer in the caf. Only a few weeks before, I was looking for a story. And then, when I had one, I only had the smallest taste of what I knew could be a full tale.
But I knew I had a story, and it would be the most touching story I had ever heard or written. It was about six-thirty in the evening and I was about to leave the office. It had been a long day and my head ached. There seemed to be problems piled on top of other problems, and I had no solutions in sight. My phone buzzed, but I was so tired, I nearly ignored it.
I put my hand in my pocket, and then drew it out again, leaving my phone in its nest. A few steps forward and my hungry writers curiosity was too much to ignore. Sliding my hand in the pocket a second time, I drew out the phone and tapped a few buttons. It was from Kabir. Your traveller is here. I forgot my headache and started to rush to the exit as I tapped buttons furiously. Keep him engaged. I am coming. Moments later, I was on my way to the caf. I met Kabirs eye as I came in and I nodded my thanks.
I strolled to his table as I did a mental check of my clothing, my hair, and my makeup. Since I had worked through lunch, at least I knew I didnt have any embarrassing stains or pieces of food stuck between my teeth. Taking a deep breath, I slid into the chair in front of him.
So, Mr. Vivaan, how are you? I gave him my most brilliant smile, as if we had planned this meeting for ages. He looked up and blinked twice. Excuse me? I could tell by his voice that he was astonished by my forward greeting. Or perhaps it was because I knew his name. I crossed my legs and leaned back in my chair. My deliberate movements didnt betray my racing heart. I am sorry, I began, but before you leave me for a third time, I think we should at least talk.
I turned to signal to Kabir to bring my cappuccino. Well, I never left you, Vivaan said, looking deep in my eyes for the first time. For a moment, my calm movements began to falter. I could feel my hands begin to shake as he captured my gaze and refused to let it go. I flexed my fingertips, silently commanding my hands to behave. I shook my head the same way my mother used to shake her head at me when I snuck away a chocolate cookie.
But you never stayed. You escaped every time, I replied with my eyes fixed on his. I felt myself discovering a new universe.
A frown creased his forehead. I love to travel. Dont you know that? I know. My voice was low, quiet. I didnt know what to say anymore. His eyes had cast some spell on me and I was completely mesmerized. He spoke so softly, I could barely hear him.
I absorbed his words by watching his full lips move as much as I heard the sound. And what makes you want me to stay? I wanted to stay in that universe for a very long time, that much I knew.
And instinct told me that going soft would not hold him here. I cleared my throat, forcing attitude back into my voice. I love to write, I responded. Maybe thats why. I gave him a quick grin. He smiled for the first time.
It was one of those rarest smiles you encounter in your entire lifetime. The crystal hidden deep within a plain rock. These smiles have the power to change you from within.
There is nothing to write about me, Vivaan declared, and shook his head. I plunked my hands on the table, lacing my fingers together. Everyone has a story to tell, I insisted. Some are written in books, and some are confined to hearts. I was proud of my answer. And there was silence for a few seconds.
As we stared without blinking, I thought about the childhood game I used to play with my sister. I felt, rather than saw, movement beside me and a cup was placed in front of me. Here is your coffee. I had no idea who supplied the cup, but I thanked her without breaking my gaze and delicately sipped my cappuccino, finally lowering my eyes.
I refused to speak next. It was his turn. I counted three deep breaths before he finally spoke. You are good with words, Vivaan said as he broke the silence. Thanks, I said. And what are you good at? I was eager to know more about Vivaan. He seemed so mysterious, and yet so wonderful.
Before I could get my answer, Vivaans cell phone began to ring. He quickly reached down and checked the caller ID. His eyes were regretful when he looked up at me, disappointment rippling across his face. Then he chuckled. I guess I am good at escaping, he said.
Disappointment soared. I asked in a low voice. Always, he whispered, leaning across the table so I could hear him. I prompted. I didnt want him to leave. I planned to keep him talking as long as I could. He shrugged, the shoulders of his coat lifting nearly to his ears.
I wanted to cry, but there was a glint of teasing in his eyes. I love to travel, he explained. I cant stay in one place. Not yet, my mind called out. Will you meet me again? I mimicked his tone. Maybe you are my story. Miss Writer, he said as he stood up. I am real, not fiction. He laughed and started leaving. I stood up as well and held his arm lightly. I am Meera, I said sadly.
Not Miss Writer. And before he could escape, I left the caf first. I rolled my cell phone over and over in my hands, and then scrolled through my contacts until I found the one that I wanted. She answered, her voice singing as she spoke my name. How are you, my love? It has been so long since Ive heard from you! I know, I responded, shame running though my veins. I have been so busy with work I heard her groan. Yes, work. Work is all you ever think about, she said scornfully.
That is not true, I argued. But it was partially true. I carefully constructed my life so I was too busy for friends, family and thoughts. Everyone wants to run away from one thing or another. At times, I want to run away from my own self. So, she said, her voice brightening. Tell me what is going on. I want to hear all about what my darling nephew has been busy with. I knew I was forgiven. Priya Aunty never called me her darling nephew if she was mad at me. Oddly, I felt lighter with those few words.
I thought fleetingly about how important words are, and how both the spoken and written word can harm or heal. Well, I began, turning my attention back to my aunt, you are right; I have been busy with work. Work is boring, she interrupted me before I could ramble on about loans and interest rates.
It is necessary, but not a topic of conversation for today. What is fun in your world? I laughed. There is not much time for fun, Aunty. She would not give up. Have you been to the movies? Not lately. Any good restaurants? I heard her sigh in frustration. I could picture her sitting at her kitchen table, drumming her fingers impatiently. I grinned. I have been to a new caf though, I said. Her interest rose again. With friends? I laughed, knowing what she meant: friends of the female variety.
No, I said. They have a great French roast coffee that I love and the atmosphere is very fun. And they have writers coming in to speak I broke off, thinking of her. Her name to me was like a warm evening breeze. That sounds interesting, she said. But you are still alone.
It is what I want, Aunty, I said. You know I want to travel. The pyramids, she offered, continuing my path of thinking. I know, Vivaan. And I know you would not have the opportunity to travel if I broke in, anxious to cut off the rest of her sentence. But I can, and I will. Im not sure, I said. Perhaps soon. Wont you get lonely? Maybe, I admitted. Maybe I will. But a person needs to learn how to be alone. I do hope you find what you are looking for in the great, vast world you encounter, she responded.
And what would that be? I teased. Only you know, Vivaan. A part of me was dying to go, but another part of me was still crushed by Vivaans abrupt departure and I felt that I should stay away to heal my heart a little. Not a single day had passed without my thinking about Vivaan. There was something about his mysterious persona that drew me towards him.
I wanted to know more about him. I needed to know more about him. I needed this time to discover myself in someone elses story.
Growing up in Pune, this was one of my favourite places to visit. I loved walking around the fortification and its grounds, running my hands over the steel gates. As a child, I used to look up at the spikes in the gatesput in place to protect the entrywayand wish for the time when I was an adult and able to reach them. Why is it we are so anxious in our need to mature? It only opens us up for the possibility to get very, very hurt. My phone vibrated as I was strolling down a stone walkway. I took it out of my pocket and looked at the sender.
I didnt know the number. Curious, I read the message. Who is this? I texted back. Lets meet. The sender didnt identify himself. My heart fluttered. I had a feeling I knew who it was, but I wanted to be sure. A part of me was excited, but another part was slightly annoyed. I ignored the message for a few minutes. Let him wait. Finally, I responded. Tell me who this is, I demanded. Dont you know me, Miss Writer? I was surprised by the fact that it truly was Vivaan.
I wondered if he had got my number from Kabir after I left. I dont know you yet. You keep escaping, was my reply. Then come and get to know me. Tomorrow, 7 p. I wasnt going to make this easy on him. I texted: I will handcuff you to the table so you cannot run. His story seemed to call me and intrigue me, beckoning me to unfold it slowly and write about it. I intended to get to the caf early, but by the time I finished getting ready, I was no longer early.
In fact, I was thirty minutes late. The caf was already packed and I glanced around everywhere, hoping Vivaan hadnt left. I looked over in the corner and saw him sitting as far away from the crowd as possible.
He looked up from taking a sip of his coffee and smiled. Vivaan looked as good in casual clothing as he did in a suit and I ran my eyes over his jeans and black polo shirt as I made my way toward the table. Dark colours suited him well. I was starting to think you were never going to get here, Vivaan joked as I sat down. Sorry for being late, I said, but didnt offer any excuses. I am eager for you to tell me about yourself.
I will, he promised, but first, how have you been since I saw you last? I forced myself to be patient. My work is going well, I said briefly. Have you done anything fun?
I smiled. Yes, I went to Shaniwarwada. I find a lot of peace in the gardens. I love it there, he said. So much history, so close to us. Then why do you want to travel? I was desperate to ask him, but I wanted to keep his focus on our table. I wanted his mind on me, in the coffee shop. Not roaming the world. Now, tell me about the mysterious Vivaan, I demanded. I was born and brought up in Mumbai, Vivaan started.
I lost my mother when I was a child and my father raised me with lots of love and care. I watched the pain flash in his eyes when he spoke of his mother, followed quickly by a wave of happiness when he mentioned his father. If emotions were colours, I know I would have witnessed a beautiful piece of artwork in a few seconds time. I am so deeply sorry for the loss of your mother, I said. My eyes started to fill with tears. Its okay, Vivaan said as he quickly looked out the window, trying to focus on anything out there.
I was positive he missed her. I knew if Id lost my mother at such an early age as he had, I would feel that a piece of me had been carved out, never to be replaced. Although he was still a stranger, a part of me wanted to hug him and comfort him. I cleared my throat to bring his attention back to our table. Please go on and tell me more about yourself. He smiled. I completed my masters in finance and joined the banking sector. After a few years of hard work and a lot of struggling, I became the youngest assistant branch manager in our company, he said proudly.
I am probably going to be one of the youngest chief branch managers that the bank has within the next couple years. Impressive, I said truthfully. The man before me was certainly determined. That is all about me. I knew there was more that he held deeper and closer to his heart, and I wanted so badly to uncover his secrets.
I crossed my arms in a challenging position. That is the entire story you have about yourself? I asked in disbelief, and I raised my eyebrows at him. Yes, thats my story.
Are you kidding me right now? No, I told you my story wasnt that interesting, Vivaan replied. I am not downloading it for a minute! You have more to your story, and you are just hiding it! Tell me about your girlfriend, I demanded, pushing further.
I dont have a girlfriend, Vivaan said as he shook his head. I wondered quickly if I had read him wrong. Then do you have a boyfriend? I asked, suddenly puzzled. Shut up! He laughed heartily. I dont have a boyfriend! Vivaan, I allowed my frustration to colour my voice. You drag me down here and you refuse to tell me anything! I pointed out. He sighed. Meera, I do not have a girlfriend.
And, most definitely, not a boyfriend. I am single! I smiled my thanks as a waitress brought me my cappuccino before I turned back to Vivaan. Okay, what about your past? Did you have someone that you called your own? I did have my fair share of flings, but there was nothing very serious. I am telling you the truth, Meera! I looked at him, confused. There must be more to him than this. I am disappointed. I drew the words out the way my teachers used to when they chastised someone for not turning in a good paper.
He frowned and began to tap his fingers against his coffee cup. I explained patiently, I thought you would have some great love story to tell, something fascinating I could write about. Meera, there are stories everywhere if you look. I could hear the regret in his voice as he reached out, gently prying my fingers off my cup.
He wrapped his hand around mine, squeezing gently, and I felt my pulse crackle at the friendly gesture. I dont find stories everywhere. The only time I found the one I wanted to explore, it was in your eyes, I whispered.
Vivaan was silent. He signalled Kabir to bring another coffee. When Kabir came up with a second round of coffee, Vivaan said, Maybe you should try to look somewhere else. In Kabirs eyes. Kabir and I exchanged glances, and we both seemed equally shocked by Vivaans statement. My second cappuccino sloshed in the cup as he put it on the table. Kabir and I asked at the same time. Vivaan laughed at our confusion. Didnt you ever notice how Kabir smiles when he looks at all the people who come in here?
He doesnt care if they are young or old; he flashes a smile at them anyway. I looked at Kabir, suddenly seeing my friend in a different way. The way he makes them feel here is like they are home, and we are all family. That is something I try to do, yes, Kabir said happily.
He also makes the best coffee for his customers. I am sure he has been in love and that he has a story to tell, Vivaan finished with excitement. I sat there shocked at how he could pick up on every little detail a person had about them. Slowly, I started to speak. I have to admit I have known Kabir a lot longer than I have known you.
I know he is a lovely and courteous man and he serves his customers very well. But Kabirs love story never crossed my mind. Tell me, Kabir. Is Vivaan right?
Hmm Kabir stood there silently. Looking for the meaning of life, he finds peace and happiness in the soothing words of Miraya. Kasturi is an MBA aspirant who loves her friends and will do everything possible to make sure they are okay.
The plot and the characters The book follows the stories of these four individuals and how they tackle their problems and conquer life. The plot is pretty decent and moves at a steady pace. There is not much action happening in the story but the drama manages to keep the reader hooked. The characters are a mixed bunch. I really liked the character of Miraya but Anubhav and Shaurya were just too depressed and pessimistic for my liking.
Chapters are named after the characters who tell their story alternatively. There are some beautiful quotes in the book which I felt compelled to highlight and go back to after reading the book. Just above pages, the book can be read in a single sitting of 3 hours.
The language has been kept simple and that makes the book a really breezy read. How was the climax?