Can Love Happen Twice? (9 page)

But that day onwards, I accepted that I was no longer the same Ravin I used to be. Gradually, with the passage of each day, I sensed that I was changing. I accepted that I loved Simar’s company. I got all excited when I was to see her at lunch. I would feel low if she wouldn’t turn up for some reason. Most of the time her name would appear on my cellphone’s last dialled contact.

But despite whatever was happening to me, I must confess that there also was something that was stopping me from sailing in the oceans of my heart. Time and again a counter-thought would knock at the doors of my conscience and ask me if it was perfectly all right to allow everything to proceed the way it was happening. At times I would recall my past and try to find reasons to some unasked questions. Most of the time I wasn’t sure what I was up to. But every time I was sure that I was being true to myself and to others.

Meanwhile, Simar became more comfortable with me. I remember, after that memorable lunch we had that afternoon, she said that she didn’t need Tanu’s company any more to visit my place. To prove her point she did turn up very quickly on my doorstep. It was the following Saturday and her second visit to my place. ‘I will tell you her story,’ I’d said when we had been playing Truth or Dare. And she had remembered that I had mentioned to do so over the next weekend.

This was that weekend. She settled on the couch and made herself comfortable. When I was about to get her something to drink she stopped me and said, ‘I am here only to listen to your story.’

I smiled. ‘So in how much detail do you want to know it?’ I asked her.

‘In the greatest possible detail,’ she answered without taking a moment to think. Her response, however, made me thoughtful for a few moments.

‘Hmmm …’ I was looking at her.

In return she kept staring straight into my eyes, waiting for me to start narrating my story. She seemed very sure about her reason for being at my place and she didn’t want to deviate from the same.

I stood for a while and then walked away. Behind me she called out, ‘Where are you going?’

I ignored her and walked right to my bedroom and returned with a book—my book.

‘Here is her story in the greatest possible detail,’ I said as I handed that book to her.

Surprised, she quickly grabbed the book and read the title.

‘I … too … had … a … love story …’ she read and then murmured in a low voice the line below the title, ‘A heartbreaking true love tale … Ravinder Singh.’ She read my name and then reread it. And then she was left agape. She made out that it was I who had written the story when she flipped the cover page and saw my picture next to the author bio.

She didn’t speak for a while, her eyes darting from the pages of the book to my face. I knew she had at least a thousand questions she wanted to ask in that one moment, but she was hardly able to frame one. And unable to do so, she sat back and tried to get a sense of it all from my book. Even I didn’t offer help with any explanations but simply stood there reading her facial expressions as she continued flipping some more pages in haste.

When she got to the summary of the book she read my tribute—‘To the loving memory of the girl whom I loved, yet could not marry.’ Suddenly she closed her mouth and swallowed nervously. I saw her throat muscles retract and then constrict. She seemed a little tense. Then, with a small sigh, she untied her sandals, folded her legs on the couch, leaned back and started reading the book.

I knew that with the subject of my book, the atmosphere in my living room was getting sombre. And I didn’t want to make it any more emotional.

‘All right, I have kept my promise. Take your time and read it at your leisure. I am going to make some tea for both of us. I want you to help me,’ I said, turning towards the kitchen.

‘You go and make it. I will read it now,’ came a prompt answer from her.

‘What?’ I turned back to her.

She didn’t bother to answer this time. Her eyes were glued to the book. She no longer cared to look at me. I stood there in silence for a while and left when I was sure that she wouldn’t accompany me.

For the remainder of the evening she continued with her reading marathon. I wondered how she could simply sit and read without bothering about anything else. She hadn’t even thanked me for the tea! I noticed that she had been quickly and continuously flipping the pages, roughly one every three minutes. Though I sat next to her and had my tea, it was as good as having it alone.

It is a rare case when a reader is so engrossed in a book that she neglects the author of the very book she is reading!

It seemed useless to sit around and wait for her to speak, so I moved to the dining table and pulled out my laptop to carry on with my office work. Some more time passed and the silence continued to prevail in the living room.

Suddenly she stood up and wore her sandals.

‘What happened?’ I asked, thinking that she might be wanting to use the loo.

‘I have to go back. It’s late!’ she responded.

I looked at the wall clock. It was just 8.30 p.m. and, as such, it was not really a late hour. I knew she was used to being out of her hostel till much later in the night.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. And I am taking this with me,’ she said, looking at the book and tying the straps of her sandal with her left hand. The index finger of her right hand was wedged between the pages of the book, marking the point at which she had stopped reading.

‘Have dinner, na?’ I insisted.

‘No … I need to go,’ she insisted.

I got the feeling that there was something on her mind as she was behaving a little differently. But I didn’t push her to stay back or to reveal what had happened to her. I let her go.

A little while later, after she had gone, she sent me a long message:

‘M sry 4 leavin dis way all of a sudden. In d last chapter I witnessed u kissing Khushi n holding her in ur arms. 4 sum reasons I got conscious of lookin at u while reading about u. At dis moment m so addicted 2 ur life’s story dat I don’t wan 2 ruin my experience of readin it furthr n hence wanted to read it in my privacy. M in a cab n eagerly awaiting 2 rch home n continue readin it. Wll talk 2 u nxt once i complete it.’

That night there wasn’t any further message from her. Neither did I write back.

When I woke up the next morning I realized that Simar had completed reading my book. There were a few long messages in my mobile phone that had arrived at dawn—near about 4 a.m.

The first one read: ‘Jst completed readin ur life’s story Ravin. I’m still crying. Last few pages of the book hv been spoiled wid patches of my tears falling on thm. Ur love 4 Khushi is so sacred n priceless. Hw cud God b so cruel 2 tk away n angel like Khushi from you? Bt u knw wat, I m happy that with this tribute to Khushi, u brought her bck in this world n defeated God. Evry girl wud yearn for a soulmate like u.’

I didn’t respond to any of her messages.

Later in the day we met for lunch at the diner. She was sad and I could sense how deeply she was moved by my book. Her eyes had empathy for me. I tried to make her feel comfortable. By the time we grabbed our sandwiches and sat at the table, the two of us kept talking about Khushi. She had plenty of questions about her. To answer some of them I narrated some of the funny moments that Khushi and I shared which were not part of the book. She finally smiled and I felt a little lighter. By the time we had finished our lunch and were about to leave, she asked me the same question which millions of my readers have asked.

‘Can I get to see her picture?’

I stood silently and kept looking into her eyes. Her compelling eyes had that conviction which didn’t allow me to let her down. For some reason I myself wanted to show her my Khushi, even before she had asked about her. It had never happened to me this way earlier. And I believed it would never happen to me this way later.

Before the day ended I did show her what my Khushi looked like.

As Simar moved her fingers over the photograph, her only words were: ‘Just the way you described her in your masterpiece.’

As the days passed by, I realized that reading my book had brought Simar far closer to me than she had ever been. It had changed a lot of things between us. It worked as a catalyst that set into motion the process of bridging the pending yet vital gaps in our budding relationship. It had made things crystal clear in Simar’s mind. I could see that in her body language. I could read that in her thoughts.

Late one night, when Simar and I were talking to each other over the phone, she expressed herself clearly. She was serious about whatever she was saying.

‘Having known you personally and then through your book, I wish I could have a guy like you in my life.’

I kept quiet.

‘You are the sweetest heart,’ she said.

‘I want to hear that one more time,’ I responded, having gathered my courage.

‘You are
my
sweetest heart,’ she said, this time with more conviction.

‘I want to hear that one more time,’ I hesitantly repeated. For some reason her voice was hypnotizing me.

‘You are my sweetest heart, Ravin. I want to hug you.’

I kept insisting she repeat those glorious words. She kept repeating them. And the two of us kept talking late into the night. Before we had said goodnight to each other, Simar had planned to exercise her wish, to hug me, the very next day.

The next afternoon, I arrived at the bus stop close to my office. I had taken a half-day leave. A delighted Simar had been waiting for me. She looked refreshing in her light blue half-sleeved top. It had a witty message on the front which read ‘You are wrong’ in a light-coloured smaller font in the background, and ‘I am right’ in a larger, darker font in the foreground.

‘What is with this funny message on your top—You are wrong and I am right?’ I said and laughed

‘Hey!’ she slapped my hand as she caught me reading that on her front.

‘What? Can’t I read it?’ I asked, smiling.

‘
Har likhi hui cheez padhni zaroori nahi hoti
,’ she said and took away her gaze.

‘
To phir likhi kyu hoti hai?
’ I asked back.

‘I don’t know,’ she said.

I laughed and teased her further. ‘Do you have a problem with me reading it or my staring at the wrong place?’

As soon as I said this her mouth opened in an oval shape, letting out a ‘Haawww!’ as a sign of embarrassment. Then, as if to avoid me, she looked away in the direction from which the bus was to come.

‘Achha, I am sorry,’ I apologized. ‘But you are looking very beautiful in this top.’

Hearing this she looked back at me and couldn’t help herself from smiling. I saw her twinkling eyes. She was calm yet pleasantly anxious.

My home was just a ten-minute ride away and soon we were there. As we walked from the sunlit open space into the roofed entrance of my building a chill ran into my body. I had almost started getting the vibes of what was to follow in the next few hours. We walked up to the first floor. I unlocked the door and walked in. She followed me.

As soon as I locked the door from inside, another chill ran down my spine. Not that I was scared but probably I wasn’t prepared. And not that Simar was prepared, but at least she was sure of what was on her mind. And honestly, I was dependent on her. I was game for her thoughts as I had nothing to share. I had surrendered myself. What was going to happen was going to be pleasant but I wasn’t sure if it was all good to let those pleasant things happen.

Simar in turn looked around. I said a few words, all of them needless. I was tracing the ground beneath my feet even though it was not a battle. She kept watching me and it was as if she was allowing me to get comfortable in my own house. I appeared almost like a loser, being in my own house and unable to cope with a situation of being with a girl who had something lovely running in her mind. My past was flashing in my mind. I had been struggling with it for so long and I was struggling with it even more so in those moments.

When the silence grew uncomfortable and I failed to find appropriate words to break it, I went to pull out a bottle of water from the fridge. The chilled air from the fridge froze me further.

‘You want juice or water?’ I shouted, pulling out a can of juice.

She didn’t respond.

‘Simar. You want—?’

I hadn’t even completed my sentence when I felt Simar behind me.

She had perched her elbow on the door of the refrigerator and was watching me. She was smiling naughtily with her little fingertip stuck at the corner of her lips.

‘You want a …’ I tried to continue but she cut me in mid-sentence to say, ‘I want you!’

The refrigerator door swivelled shut behind my back, interrupting my gazing at her.

The curve of her smile grew.

She didn’t say anything further, but simply stepped closer towards me with her arms wide open.

In that very second I experienced a rush of adrenalin surging within me. It was as if gallons of blood were rushing up and down my nerves, choking them, and inflating my muscles inside. My hands grew cold, colder than the chilled juice cans in my hands. I put those cans on the shelf next to me, but couldn’t take my eyes off her. I was a split second away from witnessing something beautiful. It wasn’t going to be for the first time but it was going to be after so long a time.