Free Can Love Happen Twice? by Ravinder Singh Page B

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.

Thirteen
    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