دانلود رمان انگلیسی “پسری با قلب شکسته”

‘You can do anything you want once you’re in college,’ Mumma had always said to me while I was in school. Anything. I took her up on this and asked her if her words still stand, and if I could seriously do anything now that it was my first day of college. She stared at me and I think she was wondering if I would put her through the same sleepless nights and the same humiliation that Divya Di had put her through before dropping out of college in her second year. ‘Don’t steal from anyone,’ she said. That was unfair. The last time either Divya Di or I—famed shoplifters of pens, chocolates and newspapers, and later, even filching hard cash—had been caught stealing was three years ago when we stole three hundred rupees from the shagun envelopes at our second cousin’s wedding. We were then banned from attending the other functions, but I have heard the paneer wasn’t anything to write home about and the ice cream had finished an hour before the phera s. In my defence, I’m a much better thief than Di (the debacle was all her fault), although she can jump, run, kick and punch her way better than me. That was the last time Di and I ever stole at a wedding. Mumma would not let us out of her sight. But neither Mumma nor Papa has ever scolded us for finding things with us that we didn’t own. ‘Everyone steals,’ says Papa, who has always been at the receiving end of thievery. So the two of us are just trying to balance the scales little by little.