دانلود رمان انگلیسی “هر کسی داستانی دارد”

 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.