Can Love Happen Twice? (7 page)

I didn’t pester her further because I was trying to comfort her. I also kept cleaning the mess. She was way more comfortable now and got up from the couch to check my collection of music CDs and a few books I had on my shelf.

Eventually, we just talked as we did our own thing, our voices rising and dropping depending on where we were. Gradually, she seemed to be feeling less nervous and was laughing every now and then. She appeared comfortable talking about various things. Later, she even helped me in doing the dishes. I too wasn’t embarrassed any more at the prospect of exposing my messy kitchen to her. I was enjoying her presence. I don’t know why but I felt different. It all felt nice. Maybe because it had been so long since I had been with a girl in the privacy of my house at this late hour. Perhaps that’s why the air around us felt so stimulating—as if it was charged with some sort of mysterious, invigorating vibes. We kept talking, after which we made some coffee and, along with the leftover cake, shifted to the balcony.

It was pleasant being there with Simar in that dimly lit balcony and witnessing that beautiful night full of stars. I wasn’t able to see her attractive face clearly but the lack of light actually made it more interesting for both of us to be out there. I don’t know what exactly the darkness had to do with this, but it certainly added an overwhelming feeling to it all. Maybe it simply takes away the distance between two people who are talking and lets them be themselves. When you are not able to look into the eyes of the other person and read her thoughts, you don’t tend to verify what she is saying. You simply take her as being true to her words. And you love to do so more if she is a gorgeous girl.

It was refreshing out there and the gentle air around me was filled with a wonderful blend of various scents—at times I smelled the steam of coffee, at other times I smelled the fragrance of Simar.

We sat there for a long time.

Almost an hour had passed when the bell rang again.

‘It must be Tanu …
I will be back in 20 minutes!
’ Simar said mimicking Tanu.

She was about to get up but instead I jumped out of my bean bag to answer the doorbell. It wasn’t locked, though, to keep Simar comfortable. I welcomed Tanu back into my house. ‘Sorry, I am late,’ she apologized and walked ahead of me to look for her friend.

‘Out there in the balcony,’ I told her and then added, ‘Watch your step!’

‘What are you guys doing?’ Tanu casually asked when she was able to trace Simar in the barely lit balcony.

‘Ah … nothing much,’ Simar said. I don’t know, but for some reason Simar didn’t have any answer to her friend’s question.

‘Truth or Dare,’ popped out of my mouth. ‘We were playing Truth or Dare.’ I don’t know why I said that. But I said it.

‘Oh, who won?’ she asked inquisitively.

Simar started giggling when she heard me cooking up this fake story for no reason.

I responded, ‘No one yet, but there are strong chances that I may win.’ And then I tried to change the subject. ‘Sit!’ I said, pushing a chair towards Tanu.

‘Oh no, no. We are already late. We actually need to rush,’ Tanu said instead.

‘It will take me half an hour to cook. We can have dinner together,’ I said. I really didn’t want them to leave.

‘You cook?’ Tanu asked, putting her hands on her hips and giving me a surprised look.

‘Yes.’

‘You know how to cook?’ Simar rose from her chair and joined Tanu.

I was enjoying their shock and answered as I had answered before, ‘Yes,’ and had the last sip of my coffee.

They were quiet for a moment.

‘Why? What happened?’ I asked as I got up and put the cup and cutlery in the tray, ready to take them back to the kitchen.

‘Let me help you.’ Simar sportingly took half of the stuff from my hands and followed me to the kitchen.

‘Because we don’t know how to cook! How come being a guy you know how to cook?’ Tanu exclaimed from the balcony.

‘There is nothing like guys can’t cook and all. It is up to your need and interest. I live alone and I prefer eating Indian food and hence I cook it,’ I answered. Then I asked them, ‘How do you manage your meals then?’

By now Tanu too was at the kitchen door.

Simar replied, ‘We eat in our mess.’

‘Else we have stored surplus Maggi that we get from that Pakistani shop near the Mechelen railway station,’ added Tanu.

‘Oh yes, even I get Indian pulses and vegetables from that shop only,’ I added.

‘Simar, look at the time!’ Tanu pleaded.

‘Oh shit!’

‘Ravin, we need to go now. We are very late.’

‘Yes. And for sure we would love to eat some nice Indian food when we show up the next time!’ Tanu chuckled. Simar gave her an annoyed look.

‘Sure, anytime,’ I responded. I knew that I wouldn’t mind cooking for any of them.

At the door Tanu left first and Simar stood for a last-minute chat.

‘Ah … thanks for coming, Simar. I really had a great time with you,’ I said, before she could say anything.

‘You are welcome and I must say it was a pleasant evening for me. Sorry for being late, though. Chalo, you take care now and I will leave. Happy Birthday once again!’

I smiled and waved my hand. She left. I closed my door and walked back, feeling blissful.

I felt the need to have a drink and to enjoy the last few hours of my birthday. I consumed two cans of Stellas. I emptied the second one listening to some music in my bedroom. For some unknown reason I loved boozing. Hours later my cellphone beeped. I had long been asleep then but the loud beep and vibration of the phone on my bedside woke me up. Half asleep, I read the SMS. It was her—Simar. I was drunk but tried to read the message. There were three words on the screen: ‘Truth or Dare?’

It is early morning. I haven’t been able to sleep much. I am out of my bed way ahead of my usual routine time. I prepare some tea for myself. Standing in the refreshing air of my cold balcony and sipping the tea from my cup, I am lost in my thoughts.

I am shuttling back and forth between my past and my present. I am trying to knit each and every vital happening from my recent life with what I have already been through in the past and am trying to infer some meaning out of it. I am not even sure if it does have any meaning.

Everything that has happened so far—my coming to Belgium, Simar’s studying next to my office, our frequent interactions … was this all coincidence? Who was driving all this? God?

Why am I thinking about her? After all, who is she? Simply an Indian girl in Belgium, just like hundreds more. But then why am I getting so deeply attracted to her?

Wait. Am I? No, this isn’t true. There is nothing of this sort. How can it be? I have already lived this phase of my life. It can’t happen again.

But then there is something which is bothering me. What is it? I can lie to Sanchit but how do I lie to myself?

All of a sudden the alarm of my watch, back in my bedroom, rings at its routine time and interrupts my thoughts. I realize that I have long drunk my tea. I walk back to my room to get ready.

That night had another surprise for me. It was long past midnight and I was wondering whether to reply to her SMS or not. The very idea of learning about each other at that hour of the night through a naughty game was really exciting me—I was on the verge of becoming crazy. I was not sure how she was feeling but the complication was also that I was high and extremely conscious of this fact. Besides, I was struggling with two types of fears at that moment—the fear of getting carried away and becoming the kind of human being I had long left behind and the fear of denying myself a chance to restart a whole new life.

Both were contradictory fears. Now that I had had my share of alcohol, the things that Sanchit had told me earlier appeared to make sense. I’d left India because I wanted a change in my life. I was in Belgium which was offering me a change. I was delighted. But I was confused too. I floated in an oblivious sea of two simple questions—should I or should I not?

I bit my lower lip, considering my next move, as if it was a game of chess and I was taking my time to play. To comfort myself, I’d bought my own argument that how could I simply go off to sleep without answering the SMS when someone, somewhere was waiting for my response. The very fact that she was waiting for me made me anxious; and I was becoming more anxious as more time passed by. I picked up my phone and willed myself to write to her that I was half asleep and would talk to her in the morning. That appeared to me as the best thing to do, especially since I wasn’t sure which way I wanted my life to move.

But before I could even frame a message to send Simar, I got another one from her. It read:

‘It’s ok if u r scared of playing it. But u shouldn’t have mentioned to Tanu that u were about to win
’

That smiley at the end of the message made me smile. I looked at the wall in front of me, thinking now of how to reply. That SMS was a tempting bait from a candid if not cunning mind.

Is she provoking me? I thought to myself. I couldn’t sleep now! My opponent was not only beautiful but possessed smart communication skills, so smart as to entice her targets. I replied: ‘Whose turn first?’

As soon as that message escaped my mobile I got a third one from her flashing on my mobile’s screen.

‘Ravin, I m sorry. It wasn’t me. Tanu snatched my phone n sent them. Extremely sorry.’

By the time I read this, my message had already been delivered to her. Had her third message reached me two seconds back, I wouldn’t have sent mine. And then another one came: ‘I scolded her big time. U must hv been sleeping. Sry 2 bother u.’

To this I replied, saying: ‘It’s ok. Gdnite.’

A few minutes later, she responded, asking: ‘U appear angry. M nt sure if u actually meant it 2 b ok. I only hope u forgive me.’

I laughed at her panic, though I was wondering why Tanu had done this.

I wrote back to her: ‘Cn forgive u only on 1 condition.’

She was quick to ask: ‘Wat condition?’

‘Whose turn first?
’ was my condition.

By now a series of SMSs were being exchanged on our mobiles.

‘U actually wana play kya?’

I loved her style of ending sentences with Hindi words.

‘Hanji,’ I wrote back, complementing her Hindi.

Her reply was prompt: ‘Bt I ws about 2 sleep.’

To this I responded: ‘Oh u need nt play it dear. Jst simply accept dat u lost n I wil frgive u n thn we both cn sleep.’

‘Yaar u know I m scared of playin it. I nvr played dis game wid a guy.’

‘Same pinch! Even m scared. I nvr played this wid ny gal. U still hv Tanu 2 help u. M all alone n we r gonna play half d game. jst d truth part n nt d dare s we can’t play it over the phone.’

She took her time to send her next message. I enjoyed this truce in between our war of messages.

Moments later she wrote back: ‘Yeh theek rahega. But my turn first.’

‘Go ahead.’

‘Hmmm … wer u actually annoyed by d 1st msg sent by Tanu?’ was her first question.

‘No. In fact pass on my thnks 2 her if she is awake
’

‘LOL!! ur turn.’

‘Wer u nt afraid of sitting with me in my dark balcony?’ I asked.