by Savi Sharma
‘My love,’ I begged. ‘Don’t just breathe, live your life.’
Still, nothing.
I picked up her forgotten diary and looked at her. There had to be a way to help her through this. Even though she was in a coma, I would help her. I had no clue if it would make her come back to our world or not, but I started reading the story she had written out loud to her. Every single day she seemed to be unchanged by the world around her. I told her about the traveller in the café and how someday he would embark on this world adventure, but for now he took her hand in his and watched a sunset in Pune.
Then, I turned a page and found the entry for the day that Kabir had read out loud. Stuffed between the pages was the napkin that read ‘BEAUTIFUL’. She was beautiful, and her writing was beyond beautiful … if only I could tell her again to her face when she was awake.
The journey with Vivaan, the traveller, seemed to keep going on. She had me doing and encountering all sorts of things. She had captured every moment as if her mind was a camera, and I was witnessing this for the very first time. I flipped through the book and found the entry from the day I’d left. The pages seemed tear-stained, and several pages had been removed. That was what she had thought was the end.
I knew I was no writer and I was far from being an author. I turned the page. ‘Vivaan came back!’ it read. It went into a descriptive passage on how I had surprised her. I continued reading further, about how I wanted to meet her at the café and that I had something to tell her. ‘I think he is finally going to admit he loves me! I think he might propose. I am so scared and excited that I have butterflies in my stomach.’
I stopped reading. Unfortunately, that wasn’t what happened. My eyes began to tear up all over again. What had I been thinking? How could I have been so ruthless?
27
You
Meera was still unconscious. My patience was finally wearing thin and I knew I was on the verge of breaking down. I had to express myself or I would go mad.
I held her hands, closed my eyes, and uttered the deepest feelings of my heart.
‘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.’
‘Beautiful,’ was the word I heard. Each syllable was laboured, forced and tired. I looked up, startled. There was my Meera, with tears in her eyes.
I didn’t know what to say. Was it a miracle or the power of love? Was it all destined?
I kissed her, and kept my face close to hers as our tears mixed together.
Epilogue
Everyone Has a Story
Fate had drawn my story out of me. I knew when I met Vivaan that his story was the one I wanted to tell, but I could never have imagined the depths and layers that I would encounter.
I still had to walk with the support of a cane; my body was slower to recover from the fall than I wanted. I had broken multiple bones, my leg bearing the worst of the physical damage. I endured painful therapies and, at one point, I was told I may never walk again.
But I was determined that when I stood up in front of people at the café and read excerpts from my book, I would be standing in the truest sense, and not speaking from a wheelchair.
Almost two whole years had passed since the day I met Vivaan and his story began to spin in my mind. How young I’d felt then, intensely listening to Arjun Mehra and desperately wanting to become an author like him.
Now, I looked at all the people and my hands seemed to shake as I realized I would be in front of this crowd, entertaining them with my story and explaining how, two years ago, my life changed altogether. Vivaan noticed and extended a steadying hand out, squeezing mine encouragingly. The trembling stopped as I felt his energy and it gave me the strength I needed.
My book had finally been finished. It was no longer an incomplete book. I was surprised that the publisher had liked the idea that Vivaan contribute his perspective as well, and I was thrilled at the fact that, although I began this story, we finished it together.
‘Stop worrying! You will be fine!’ Vivaan whispered as he kissed me.
‘You act like you are positive of that,’ I whispered as I returned his kiss. ‘I wish I had your courage.’
‘I’ll share,’ he grinned. ‘This time you won’t be trying to face the crowd alone. We are going to be doing this together. But you, Miss Writer, will have to begin it yourself. You need to have your time on the stage by yourself. After all, this book would never have been written if it weren’t for you.’
I smiled as I looked into his eyes. I loved the universe within them, the one that made me not only discover myself and my story, but also made me realize that shared happiness was the best type of dream come true.
Kabir pointed to his watch and motioned to me. He grinned and cleared his throat.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he began loudly. ‘It is finally the time that you have been waiting so long for. I am so excited to be standing here to introduce you to Meera, our own author. Meera began much like you, sitting in those very chairs over many long nights and weekends, writing a marvellous story,’ Kabir said.
The crowd roared, clapping in excitement as I went up in front of everyone. My heart was beating fast, and I was sure somehow I was going to mess it up. My eyes searched the crowd. So many eyes were set on me, but then mine locked on Vivaan’s. He nodded his encouragement.
‘My name is Meera and I am the author of this book, Everyone Has a Story. Two years ago, I was sitting in a café, listening to an author, Arjun Mehra, talk about his writing. I was wrapped up in my own little world, listening so intently to the author. I was mesmerized, but unaware of the man behind me who wanted to travel the world. What I didn’t realize at the time was that the curiosity of this man would take us through an amazing story of friendship, love and life. Neither one of us could have predicted how it would end,’ I said.
I sipped some water and continued, ‘Every single day, another page is added and as one chapter finishes, another one starts.
‘Remember, everyone has a story. It might or might not be a love story. It could be a story of dreams, friendship, hope, survival or even death. And every story is worth telling. But more than that, it’s worth living.
‘If I have any words of advice for you, it is this: embrace every day, even the rough ones. Each day is your very own page, and you have the power to write the words on those pages. Be courageous, and be strong, but don’t forget it is okay to be weak at times, too.’
I looked over at Kabir and Nisha. They were listening, but their attention was tu
rned elsewhere. I could see her take his hand and place it over her growing belly. Around the normal café noises—scraping chairs and brewing coffee pots—I heard Kabir draw in a sharp gasp.
My eyes filled with happy tears and I wiped them away, turning my attention back to my audience. ‘Love hard and forgive mistakes. Not only other people’s mistakes, but your own as well.’
The crowd once again started applauding, and I smiled.
‘What will you do now?’ a girl from the corner table asked, her voice projecting to be heard.
Vivaan stood up as he made his way to the front to stand next to me. A ripple of applause rolled though the audience as they realized who Vivaan was.
He draped his arm over my shoulder possessively and squeezed it. ‘We are going to travel the world together and continue to write stories about our journeys,’ he said confidently.
‘Where will you go?’
I spoke up. ‘Anywhere and everywhere. But always together.’
He dropped a kiss on my forehead before turning back to the audience. ‘Although you have the book in your hands, our story is far from over.’
Acknowledgements
I would like to express my gratitude to many people who saw me through this book; to all those who provided support, talked things over, read, wrote, offered comments, remarks and assisted in making this book better.
I want to thank my parents, family and friends who supported and encouraged me in spite of all the time it took me away from them.
Most importantly, I want to thank my mentor, Ashish Bagrecha, for making me what I am today.
Finally, thanks to my publishers Westland Ltd., led by Gautam Padmanabhan, for realizing my potential and helping me tell my stories.
