Every evening, a mysterious old storyteller appeared in a Marrakech market.
He told a different story each night.
Nobody knew his name.
One evening, a young boy asked:
“Where do you find your stories?”
The storyteller smiled.
“People give them to me.”
The boy asked:
“How?”
“By living.”
Years passed.
The boy became a writer.
He returned to the market many years later.
The storyteller was gone.
But the market was still filled with music, food, laughter, and voices.
The boy sat down and began writing.
He finally understood.
Stories do not belong to storytellers.
They belong to everyone.
