Everyone Has A Story by Savi Sharma
Everyone Has A Story
by
Savi Sharma
PROLOGUE
I was never a writer and I don’t aspire to be one either. I was never a good reader and I don’t know if I
will ever be one. But now, I have been much more.
Every day, I woke up; I tried to find reasons to live. Every night, when I slept, I tried to find reasons
to not die. Every moment, I tried to find reasons to hope, dream and love. But I never found them.
Until I met you.
I saw chaos, confusion, and fear all around me. But not within me, after I met you.
Time decides our fate, our journey. And when time changes, everything changes. Everything.
Sometimes for worse, sometimes for better. And sometimes, for the best. I never believed that. Until
you happened to me.
It’s not a story and maybe it’s not love. It’s about something more real than stories and more
powerful than love. It’s about you. Yes, you. Real and powerful.
I have never been happy with someone. I wanted to be with different people at different places with
different feelings. I wanted to explore everything, know everyone. But then I explored you. And I
found you are not just ONE, you are an infinity. An infinity of love, care, trust, respect,
understanding. A universe of inspirations, aspirations, hope and happiness. Maybe you are the
universe out there which I explore. Or the universe in me that I seek.
You do not start, nor do you ever end. You are constant, yet ever changing. You are everywhere and
yet just with me. You are my creator or my creation, I question myself.
MEERA
1
WHAT’S YOUR STORY?
I had always been inspired by storytellers. I loved my job as an HR manager. It allowed me to interact
with different people from different places, each one having their own different stories, bringing
their own songs to the dance.
Life was a chaotic struggle, trying to search for where I belonged and who I was supposed to be.
Each person I had interviewed had his or her own fascinating story, which made me wonder: what’s
my story? I didn’t want to be ‘normal’, just like so many people I had met in life. Being only twentysix, I wasn’t exactly sure what the meaning of my life would really be, and where I could find it.
Every weekend I found myself sitting and listening to amazing authors at the café Coffee & Us. I
was drawn to authors, fascinated by their ability to create other people’s stories. How could they draw
the truth from each individual and build a beautifully woven tale? I guess, having stories stuck in my
own soul was the reason I needed to hear other people’s stories. But I didn’t just want to hear stories;
my heart was aching to tell a beautiful story which would change people’s lives, or at least mine.
So there I was at Coffee & Us, my hands wrapped around a warm, soothing cup of coffee. I could
listen to the world around me, hear the songs of life, or I could put my earplugs in and mute out the
world. I had seen so many writers come through these doors, and often I wondered if this café had
some magic within its walls.
Kabir, the manager, paused in his duties and addressed me. ‘When are you going to stop dreaming
about being an author, Meera, and finally write a book?’
His voice might have sounded stern to an outsider, but Kabir had become my good friend. I’m not
sure when, but at some point while I was becoming a regular visitor to his café, our casual
interactions had blossomed into a warm friendship. He respected my opinions, and I treasured his.
‘I don’t know,’ I said, frowning.
I ran my fingers through my long hair and let out a frustrated sigh, looking around at all the people
in the small café. ‘I think I will know when it is the right story to write. I just haven’t come across it
yet. I’m still searching for that unique story, the one that will inspire me to take that next step.’
He strolled to the counter where another cup of my favourite coffee—a frothy cappuccino—was
placed. Kabir set it in front of me, smiling gently. ‘I am sure, one day, I will be here, pouring coffee
and fetching people their orders, as I listen to you up there. The place is going to be packed; you will
see.’ He smiled at the thought and I wondered for a moment if this was my dream or his. Of course, as
friends, even our dreams would work in unison, wouldn’t they?
Still, I lacked the confidence he seemed to have in my future success. As much as I wanted to take
that next step to give my words the life they deserved, something held me back. I glanced over at the
small area where so many writers had stood, taking a small sip of their ice water and clearing their
throats before speaking the words I craved to say.
‘I don’t think I would be good enough to stand up there and face the world and a group of readers.
It must take a lot of courage for them to do what they do,’ I said, blowing on my coffee before taking
a tentative sip. I smiled as the frothy bubbles clung to my lip and licked them off delicately. ‘What if
someone laughed at what I wrote?’
My friend chuckled. ‘They would only laugh if you were reading something funny,’ he said
confidently. ‘Now, tell me, are you coming for the authors’ meet next weekend?’ he asked.
‘Definitely,’ I said.
What would the weekend bring for me? Would I still be lost in search of my story?
~
‘Live life in moments, not in days or years or your schedules. It’s our misconception—most of the
time—that we live our lives the way we want. Every single step that we take is influenced by others.
Only the part that we hide from everyone else and keep deep within our heart, is our own. I strongly
urge you all to realize that hidden part of yours. Go, live that part. Live your life. Don’t let your
dreams die within you. Trust me, your struggle, your fight, will be worth the risk in opening yourself
up. Get up. Inhale the air of passion. Start your journey. Grab your dreams. Enjoy your mistakes.
Dance to the rhythm of your heartbeats. Smile. Laugh. Love. Live.’
Author Arjun Mehra uttered these final words with confidence. His hands were clasped together as
he looked expectantly around the café. His eyes met mine, and I felt my heart beat a little faster. It was
as if he was speaking directly to me. But, in fact, he had touched the hearts of every single person in
the café with his mesmerizing words. How was it that an author could hold such a magical power
over people? I closed my eyes and imagined that I was the speaker, standing confidently in front of an
audience. I smiled softly to myself. Perhaps one day I would actually be able to move a crowd like
this.
‘What’s your story, young girl?’ I was torn away from my thoughts when I realized Mr. Mehra was
pointing directly at me. His soft brown eyes were holding mine, kindly, but with a challenging glint.
‘What is your purpose in life?’ He softened his question with a smile and, suddenly, it felt like a friend
was speaking to me.
I took a deep breath. ‘I … I want to write like you,’ I began nervously, twisting the napkin in my
hands as I decided to answer him as truthfully as I could. ‘But I don’t know what to write. I am
inspired by the world around me, but I am still in search of a story that can change the lives of
people.’ My words sounded hesitant to my ears and I wished I hadn’t spoken them.
Mr. Mehra nodded firmly. ‘People need stories. Stories of love, hope, survival, wisdom and
sometimes pain. Maybe you don’t tell them the full truth; maybe you tell them lies. But what is this
world? A lie in itself.’ 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 café 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? What’s your story?’
I had been so engrossed in his words that I hadn’t 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 hadn’t noticed him before.
‘I work as the assistant branch manager at Citibank,’ the young man answered. His voice was deep
and rich.
Mr. 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.
Mr. 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 café filled with loud
applause. I joined in, clapping so loudly, my hands began to tingle.
I had come to hear the writer, but I’d found myself deeply impressed, inspired and intrigued by the
young man’s 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 café.
‘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,
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