Can Love Happen Twice? Page 6

  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.

  ‘Y? do u bite? well honestly, I was, bt thn u made me comfortable.’

  ‘M glad u said tht. Ur turn.’

  ‘Wat ws d best moment of ur bday 2day?’

  ‘Hmm … best moment … wen u showed up.’

  ‘Really?’ she asked back.

  I responded: ‘Hey, u cn’t ask 2 questions in one go. It’s my turn now.’

  She answered: ‘’

  As the night progressed, so did the game of Truth or Dare. With those initial few questions and answers that we asked and answered respectively, the game had instilled an anxiety within us.

  ‘Do u hv a gf either in Belgium or back in India?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s diff 2 accept though, yet I wil tk it assuming dat we r playing this game honestly. Ur turn.’

  ‘I m playin it with utmost honesty. Do u hv a bf?’

  ‘I knew u wud ask this. I had one long back. We broke up. So the answer is no.’

  It had started simple and gradually turned difficult. However, the more it became difficult, the more interesting it became.

  ‘How many euros do u earn a mnth?’

  ‘Oh so u are jumping on to questions with numbers. U r makin it diff 4 urself!’ I wrote back without answering.

  ‘So shall I understand that u lost?’ she asked back.

  ‘4000 € a month.’

  ‘Wow!! U r rich! Ur turn!’ came her reply.

  ‘Now dat u hv started let’s cont with numbers. Wat r ur figure stats? ’

  Few minutes passed and as I expected she slowed down.

  ‘This is cheating!’ she wrote back.

  She appeared very innocent in her message. I laughed and thought of what she might be going through. I still didn’t reply for some more time, trying to make her accept that she’d lost. I was still under the influence of the beer I’d had just before going to bed. I’d wanted to let myself loose.

  It was 3.30 a.m. and I wondered if we were going to get any sleep at all. I picked up the cell to tell her that I was going to change the question when at that very moment her reply popped up on my screen.

  ‘36-24-36.’

  I first admired her straightforward answer and then pondered for a moment before writing my next message to her.

  ‘Very honestly I appreciate your spirit of playing!’ I wrote, as though to pat her on the back.

  ‘Thnks. Hd u not made me comf, I wudn’t hv answered this one. My turn now.’

  ‘If dere is a gal walking in front of u, 1 who has a gorgeous figure, wch part of her body wud u most like to stare at?’

  ‘Gorgeous figure … hmm … depends if she is walkin towards me or away frm me. Either way I wud hv sumthing to stare at.’

  ‘That ws hell of a smart answer Ravin ’

  The game had created a crazy but interesting atmosphere. An atmosphere of waiting for the answer while thinking of the next question. Thinking of a question which would be a little tougher to answer than the one asked before. A question that would let us fulfil the urge to knock at the doors of each other’s private lives. A question which would first make you struggle to think: should I ask or should I not? Or should I frame it in better words before bombarding the opponent. I let my inner naughtiness take over.

  ‘If I ask u 2 cum to my place rite now in watever u r wearing at this moment, so dat we sit n spend the entire night playing truth or dare in my balcony … wud u hv wanted 2 come?’

  ‘I am shy!’ came the response.

  ‘That’s not the answer to my question …’ I wrote back.

  It took little longer for my mobile to beep the next time. The message read: ‘Yes I wud hv wanted to come bt nt wearin wat I m wearin rite now.’

  I was happy to read her answer. I was glad that even though by sheer fluke I had mentioned that we were playing Truth or Dare that evening when Tanu had come to the balcony, Simar and I eventually ended up playing it.

  ‘Btw wat r u wearin at this moment?’ I wrote her back as soon as I read her message.

  She was fast to reply. ‘Haha. U cn’t ask 2 questions in one go. It’s my turn now ’

  ‘Hv u evr had ny naughty fantasies for any fem who was far older thn you?’

  ‘Yes. My computer ma’am in college . My turn now … U can answer my previous ques!’ I wrote back.

  ‘A long white shirt till knees.’

  ‘That’s it?’ I asked.

  ‘I am honest. Btw u r again askin 2 ques in one go,’ she replied.

  These were just the questions to turn a girl shy but also the ones to ignite a guy’s passions. It was not just the alcohol, but also the silence of the night which had turned the game sensational for both of us. That we were addicted was evident with th
e frequency with which we were exchanging messages. If not, then it became quite clear when I asked her:

  ‘You want to stop the game with a draw?’

  She replied: ‘No! I don’t mind winning or losing bt don’t want 2 stop. If u wan 2 stop lemme know.’

  It wasn’t just a game any more. It had turned into an opportunity to discover each other. Though it had turned a bit naughty, it had still made us candid and upfront, allowing us to open up and share things. It made us comfortable and, in that short space of time, had created an intangible bond between us. I remembered the last question she’d asked.

  ‘Now dat for the last question u hv answerd u r a virgin lemme gt bak 2 basics. Hv u evr kissed a girl?’

  It was surprising for her to know that I didn’t have a girlfriend and that I was a virgin. Fortunately for her and for me, I answered positive for the question on kissing a girl.

  My answer gave birth to another conversation.

  I was answering her confusion of me not having a girlfriend and yet kissing a girl. I told her that I was honest when I said I didn’t have a girlfriend then. I did have one a few years back. She wanted to know about that girl.

  I took a deep breath and wrote, ‘I wud love 2 tell u about dat girl, but it is a long story and I don’t want to narrate it over d phone.’

  She agreed and made me promise that I would tell her the entire story by the coming weekend. I accepted her offer.

  It was dawn when we finally slept. The two of us had still not called that game off. We mutually decided to continue this game till infinity, so that anytime anyone wants to ask a question, we could do so.

  That game of Truth or Dare had given rise to something beautiful between us—this fact was quite apparent. For the first time in years I slept with a smile on my face.

  Twelve

  The next day we met for lunch. It was late in the afternoon. I had been excited the entire morning and had been looking forward to see her. When I met her, I felt that she was equally eager to see me. But there was a difference—she was mysteriously silent while I was talking a lot. I recalled the entire game we had played the night before. Many of her answers flashed in my mind. Many of my questions—which I wouldn’t dare ask her to her face but had managed to do so the night before—also came to mind. I was sure she might also be feeling the same. She was the same girl who revealed ‘36-24-36’ and I was the same guy who asked her those statistics. We both had dark circles around our eyes which were loudly advertising our lack of sleep. Though neither of us could actually go back and sleep. The sheer excitement we felt for sure wouldn’t have allowed us to catch any shut-eye.

  The lunch we had that afternoon was extraordinary. It was our usual tasty sandwich, the same chilly Belgian winter and the same warm sun in the sky, but for some reason they all seemed at their best that day. Needless to say, we both had been eagerly waiting for this lunch since the time we’d slept only a few hours before.

  Sitting in front of Simar and watching her eat her meal, I started realizing that somewhere in the depths of my heart someone had finally broken the ice and an unidentifiable part of me had begun to melt. I felt as if it was some kind of magical metamorphosis that was happening to me. Till some time back in my life I used to be lost in my own thoughts, most of which would take me back to my past. I certainly wanted a change in my life but I was not sure how it was going to happen. I had almost believed that the rest of my life was going to continue pretty much in the same way as it had continued till then. Finding love again was not an option I ever thought of, and neither did I want to think of it. Deep in my heart I accepted that I had had my share of love in this life. So what if it had gone? At best, I used to recall my lost love and relive those memories again and again. People do live with memories—not sure how many and not sure how.

  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 w
ondered 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.’