Transcription
RAVINDER SINGHLO V E S T O R I ES T HAT T O UC HED MY HEA RT
ContentsAbout the AuthorAlso by Ravinder SinghThe Girl Behind the CounterOmkar KhandekarA Train to My MarriageVandana SharmaA Love Story in Reverse!Sujir Pavithra NayakFlirtingVinayak NadkarniThe Divine UnionK. BalakumaranJust Because I Made Love to You Doesn’t Mean I Love YouAnjali KhuranaOne Night Stand in HariharapuramMohan RaghavanMay God Bless You, DearYamini VijendranCheers to LoveRenu Bhutoria SethiSynchronicity
Jyoti Singh VisvanathLove Is Also a CompromiseManjula PalA Village Love StoryHaseeb PeerNever Forget MeRenuka VishwanathanA Tale of Two StrangersSwagata PradhanBittersweet SymphonyJennifer Ashraf KashmiHeartstringsDr Roshan RadhakrishnanThe Most HandsomeKaviya KamarajA Pair of ShoesManaswita GhoshThe Smiling StrangerLalit KundaliaThe Last NoteAmrit SinhaThe Uncertainties of LifeArpita Ghosh
Another Time, Another PlaceSowmya AjiClumsy CupidReuben Kumar LalwaniHere’s How It GoesArka DattaLove, Beyond ConditionsAsma FerdoesEditor’s NoteNotes on ContributorsFollow PenguinCopyright
PENGUIN METRO READSLOVE STORIES THAT TOUCHED MY HEARTRavinder Singh is a bestselling author. I Too Had a Love Story, his debut novel, is his ownstory that has touched millions of hearts. Can Love Happen Twice? is Ravinder’s secondnovel. After spending most of his life in Burla, a very small town in western Orissa,Ravinder has finally settled down in Chandigarh. He is an MBA from the renowned IndiaSchool of Business and is presently working with a prominent multinational company.Ravinder loves playing snooker in his free time. He is crazy about Punjabi music and lovesdancing to its beat. The best way to contact Ravinder is through his official fan page onFacebook. You can also write to him at itoohadalovestory@gmail.com or visit his websitewww.RavinderSinghOnline.com. I Love you Rachu .Dear Frnds pls spread this msg until its reach to my rachuI thinks she knows my nameEbook Downloaded from: EBOOK4IN.BLOGSPOT.COM
ALSO BY RAVINDER SINGHI Too Had a Love StoryCan Love Happen Twice?
. I Love you Rachu .
The Girl Behind the CounterOMKAR KHANDEKARI leaned over the parapet of the balcony of my apartment on the fifteenth floor. Thepreparations for the evening bhajan ritual had begun, I deduced from the escalating humdownstairs. The building watchman was arranging gray Neelkamal chairs in a semi-circlebetween a sleek red Honda and a black Chevrolet SUV. I looked back up at the jumble ofskyscrapers. Yardley Gardens was one of Mumbai’s plushest townships that my family hadrecently relocated to from the humble cobwebs of Nashik. The westward sun made mesquint and I withdrew to my cushy C-backed bamboo swing, resuming the novel in my hand.There are few things as relaxing as an evening breeze tickling you while you turn thedelicious pages of Adiga’s The White Tiger.It was now nearing six and I could hear the boys playing football downstairs. In spite ofwanting to join them, I stubbornly clung on to my novel. I didn’t want to open my mouth andmake a fool of myself. I remembered reading ‘It is better to stay silent and be thought wisethan open your mouth and be proven foolish’. Or was it the other way round? Immaterial, Iwasn’t leaving.My tenth standard was to start in a few days’ time. You could say I was a little nervous.The relocation was a little bit of, like they say, a ‘culture shock’ to me. My father had takenup a new job that offered thrice the pay of the previous, along with a horde of benefits likecompany quarters at this place, a Tata sedan and discount coupons at various dining joints.A personal pizza was no more to be shared by the family. The visit to the restaurants nomore meant a strict decorum of mere daal, a paneer subzi and roti. I could unblinkinglyorder appetizers to overpriced Cokes without a warning eyebrow. Just the very thought ofthem now made me hungry. I got up from the swing.‘Ma, can I have some money? I want to go out, eat something,’ I shouted as I went insidethe house.‘Why do you want to go outside?’ The voice came from the living room. I spotted herknitting, red and white yarn balls by her side. ‘Your grandmother has packed us some ’‘Mom!’‘These kids of today,’ she muttered without annoyance. She was quite jovial ever sincewe’d moved in. And in spite of being the unwilling kitchen recluse that she was, she mademe take a plate of parathas to both our neighbours, without paying any heed to my ‘But whatdo I say to them?’ What happened next is something I fervently hope that twenty years later Iwill look back and laugh at.
She set aside the half-finished scarf for my grandmother and fished her hand into herpurse that hung by the armrest of the couch. All the years we stayed with my grandparents inmy native town, there was a non-stop bickering between my mother and grandma. The daywe left, I sneaked a look at my mother crying in my grandma’s lap and the usually stoic ladythat my grandma is, even she couldn’t hold back the Ganges streaming down her eyes.‘Don’t spend all of it,’ she said. A crisp hundred-rupee note, from which Gandhijigrinned at me.The elevator doors opened to a shockingly electric environment. I mean, when you come tosuch a colony, you expect people to be silent and, what’s the word, ‘sophisticated’ to thepoint of being considered curt. But with the noise these kids made with their Ringa Ringaand catch and hopscotch and whatnot, I almost felt like I was back in Nashik. I avoided eyecontact and went to the main gate. The path to the street was blocked by a team of sweaty Tshirts and delirious outcries of boys of my age and less playing football.Let me tell you something about me and football. First, I hate this game. Second, and byno way because of the first pointer, I am no good at it; although, that doesn’t stop me fromadmiring a good game when I see one. And admire I did the fat guy in the midfield as hedribbled the ball between his legs. A tall stick lurched towards him. Our fatso quicklydefected to his left and furiously kicked the ball at a scared teenager who turned reflexivelyto his side. The ball hit his elbow.‘Hand!’ the fatso screamed in delight and duly encashed the free kick. I was impressed.I looked at them from a distance, hoping they would notice and call me over. Maybe theywere too engrossed in the game or maybe they didn’t care about a stranger gawking at them.I stood unheeded. Sighing, I made my way to the exit.Spencer Mall is more of a two-floored convenience store. I was thrilled to spot anescalator and hopped right on. The first floor hosts a small cafeteria consisting of threechairs each around circular wooden tables. There is a glass counter on the left where youget ‘The best Frankies in town’.Confession—I had no idea what Frankies were. I wondered if they were so expensivethat it would drive my pride of being loaded away.At the first floor, one takes a U-turn to face the cafeteria. I occupied one of the emptytables and studied the menu. The contents were reassuring. A basic vegetarian Frankie costaround forty and went up to fifty five if you wanted many fancy fillings. Schezwan paneerFrankie commanded my interest. I went to place an order at the glass-top counter and thereshe was—the Girl behind the Counter.‘Hi! And what would you like to have today?’ she smiled at me affably. It was almost asmile of recognition, as if she had been privileged to have known me since ages and that Iwas her favourite customer. I bit on my braces—her perfect pearly whites probably neverneeded dental treatment. The thick and sleek black tresses almost shone and one lock of hair
hung cutely on her dusky face. Her eyes were everything the on-screen actors swoon to andpoets write couplets about. You get it, don’t you? She was probably a few years older thanme and wore a black T-shirt that read ‘Joe’s Frankies’.I tried to power up. Speak up, I screamed inside and mentally rehearsed what I had tosay. Just order as you would normally do and say ‘Thank you’ when you get it. How hard isit? A question popped in my head—how is schezwan pronounced? C and H are silent, duh,came the answer. How can two consecutive letters be silent, I wondered. Well, it justsounds better, doesn’t it? ‘Sez-waan’, I reasoned. But this is taking too long, way beyondthe line that separates a customer from this pint-sized nincompoop. And was that sweat onmy forehead?‘Sir?’ the girl asked unflinchingly, her expressions intact. I hoped she wasn’t justpretending to be calm while hunting for an alarm button under the counter.‘One plate schezwan paneer Frankie,’ I said and instantly felt proud that I didn’t stutter.Smooth, I praised myself.‘That would be fifty rupees, sir,’ she looked into my eyes, smiling all the while.I must tell you, gentle reader, that continuous eye contact is worse than browbeating. Yousee, girls are not intimidating. Only pretty ones are. I understand I sound shallow but I callupon the puberty-license.Yours truly is no exception to this rule. I feigned interest in the pile of tissues in the wastebin behind her as I dug into my pocket. Finally, I produced the hundred rupee note andextended my hand to pay. At the same time, she stretched hers too and ended up accidentallytouching my fingers. I cringed as my fingers tingled, feeling like a biscuit that’s been dunkedin the tea a bit too long. I went back to the table with eyes squeezed shut hard.‘Excuse me, sir,’ I heard a voice in a couple of minutes. It was her voice. She meant me.Me!‘One schezwan paneer Frankie.’ She gave me a roll with salad and cubes of cottagecheese lathered with sauce and gravy peeking out of the open end.She had pronounced ‘Schezwan’ as ‘Shej-waan’. In spite of the culinary wonder in frontof me, my heart sank. I felt like stabbing myself with a spoon. Smooth.‘Thank you, sir,’ she said. ‘Hope to see you again.’That night, I slept smiling ear to ear. In spite of having absolutely no dreams involvingher, I woke up fresh as a deodorant!The next day I borrowed a fifty from mother and pressed the elevator button. The samenoise on the ground floor lobby, the same guys playing the football, and this time, a penaltyshootout. I saw Fatso taking his position in the D and stopped walking. It was the Tall Sticktaking aim this time.‘Ready!’ screamed the goalkeeper from Fatso’s team. The next instant, the ball waskicked. Fatso used brute force and jerked aside the guys from the opposing team standing on
both sides and jumped high, his head deflecting the ball to a corner.‘Foul!’ alleged a hysterical bunch. Fatso couldn’t care less and bent double laughing. TallStick pushed him to the ground but Fatso was clearly having a time of his life. I grinned athim. I was impressed. Again.The same traffic, the same pedestrians, the same road, the same mall, the same first floorand the same Frankie Girl. Bless her. I walked up to her and went straight to the counter.Today, I had taken special measures to make myself presentable. I was wearing my best pairof shoes and my wrist sported father’s metal-strap Sonata watch. I had taken the pain ofapplying a small amount of face powder, just the perfect amount that separated complexionfrom make-up. My gait was confident and tone smooth. I went up directly at the counter andordered without referring to the menu. She gave me her known-you-since-ages smile andasked me to take a seat. Since there were hardly any customers, the mood was relaxed. Itook the seat facing her, careful not to slouch.She was an epitome of effortless grace. The way she fluently dealt with cash, her easedout demeanour as she mimicked one of her colleagues, the elegance with which her featuresaided every word of hers and the voice that wafted, like an elixir to the ears. The more Iobserved, the more I was drawn towards her. Ask what her name is, I scolded myself. Itwon’t compromise the national security. But I knew I wouldn’t. I dreaded the moment Iwould finish my roll and walk back.Finally, she summoned me and I went up to the counter. Taking the Frankie, I turned back.I wanted to disappear from the spot that made me feel like a coward. I hurriedly walked tothe escalator. Even when I heard a minor commotion in the background, I didn’t bother tocheck it. Like I even cared. As I was just stepping on it, I felt a pat on my shoulder.It was her.My heart violently jolted into a see-saw. She smiled at me. The same sunny smile. Ismiled back stupidly, not knowing what else to do.‘Sir, you forgot to pay,’ she said.As I lay on my bed that night, I wondered how I could have been so foolish. It wasembarrassing. Or was it? She gave no other indication of my lapse. What she did wasexactly the opposite. She accepted the money and said, ‘See you tomorrow, sir.’I felt so invited!Today is when this phoenix shall soar into the blue skies of hope, I decided the moment Iwoke up, making up in clichés what he lacks in style. She was not going to eat me up if Istrike a conversation with her. Being well-mannered was her job description. Being myself
just won’t do. Besides, there is no big deal in asking a person’s name. I had Shakespeare toendorse that.‘I can, I will,’ was the day’s mantra. I enjoyed the movie I saw, chomped up some moreAdiga, laughed hard at the silliest of sitcoms and in an uber-confident mood, practised pickup lines in front of the mirror. I enjoyed the familiar noise of the bhajans, was enthralled byone of the superb goals scored from a distance, relished the evening chirping and evenhelped one of the ladies from the store with her shopping bag. This is it, I thought as I wentup the escalator.It was yet another slow weekday. My palpitation jacked up as I noticed her. She was notat the counter though, and occupied one of the tables with a guy in his early twenties, deeplyengrossed in a conversation. As I walked towards her, as if almost on cue, I saw heraffectionately pulling his cheek. It was only when I reached the counter that she noticed me.‘Customer, darling,’ she whispered to the guy, getting up in a rush.‘Hey, wait up,’ the guy insisted, catching her by her wrist.‘Oh no,’ she began to protest. ‘I have to.’‘Come now,’ the guy was persistent. ‘I am sure he won’t mind giving us a minute. Wouldyou, kid?’That was my call. ‘Oh, n-no. Carry on.’ I somehow mumbled. I wanted to look away. Ididn’t. I should’ve. I didn’t.The guy kissed her on the cheek and she responded by whispering something in his ear.‘See you soon,’ she said, waving him goodbye.She went behind the counter and adorned her position. Giving me another of her wellpractised smiles, she asked, ‘A paneer-chilli Frankie?’I didn’t know what to say. Somehow, I managed a, ‘Never mind,’ and started walking out.‘Oh, I am so sorry,’ she said apologetically behind me, her voice dipped in desperation.‘It’s schezwan paneer, isn’t it?’I didn’t respond and followed a chirpy middle-aged couple out on their grocery shoppingdown the escalator. I rehashed the events in my mind and tried to articulate what I felt beingthe unwilling witness. Was I sad? Nope, that was not what it felt like. It was a funny feeling.I cursed myself—funny won’t do, such words are what stupid people resort to.I did like her, yes sir, most definitely I did. Or did I? What was it that I felt for her? Istopped on my tracks as the word hit me between the eyes—fascination. I turned and lookedat one of the stained glass windows of Spencer Mall. I was captivated by her, by the noveltyshe was, like a Da Vinci painting, like an amazing novel. I turned to look at the stained glassfacade of the mall. She was my white tiger. So why did I turn back? Wasn’t today one of themost confident days? Why should it be a ‘was’? What if she has a boyfriend? What was Ihoping for anyway?Nothing! a happy voice rang inside me. I like the Frankie, I like the Frankie Girl; sowhat’s stopping me from having both of them just now?Nothing! came the reply again, even happier.
I retraced my footsteps. There was no audible heartbeat this time, only pangs of joy, ofinexplicable ecstasy. I went to the counter and smiled.‘Hello,’ I said.‘Hi, sir,’ she replied, for once, more surprised than rehearsed happiness.‘Name’s Arora. Nikhil Arora.’ I am the king of clichés, I smiled wider.She followed suit. ‘Right, Nikhil,’ she said. ‘And you will have one schezwan ’‘ paneer Frankie,’ I shared the moment with her. ‘That’s right.’‘Right away, Nikhil,’ she said. ‘Please have a seat.’‘Sure,’ I said and waited till she called me.And eventually, call she did. ‘Nikhil, your Frankie’s ready.’‘Oh yes, thank you,’ I took the roll from her. ‘By the way, there’s something I’ve beenmeaning to tell you.’‘Yes?’ She looked into my eyes inquisitively.I took in a deep breath. Yes, I can. ‘I love your smile,’ I said.‘Thank you, sir,’ she beamed, gracefully bowing her head a little. ‘Oh, and there’ssomething I’ve been meaning to tell you too.’I stared at her. This was unexpected. ‘Yes?’‘My name’s Roshni,’ she grinned, extending her hand forward.I shook it. This time there was no long lasting tingling sensation, no desperate urge tosmell the palm for a residual fragrance. It was just a warm handshake, the way it is meant tobe.I went back to my building. All the football players had evaporated but for one guy. Fatsowas shooting against the wall and chasing the ball as it bounced back. I felt inclined to talkto him but zeroed on procrastinating it—I had socialized too much for a day already. As Iwalked towards the lobby, I heard a ‘Dude!’I turned around to see the fatso calling me.‘That,’ he said, pointing at the Frankie in my hand. ‘That has paneer in it?’‘Yes,’ I said, slowly, wondering what the guy was up to.‘Then share it, no? Don’t be so selfish,’ he said and grabbed at it. I didn’t mind it.Nothing about his tone was forceful. On the contrary, it was friendly.‘By the way,’ he said; his mouth full, ‘I am Aditya. And you?’‘Nikhil,’ I said and extended a hand forward.‘Good, man,’ Aditya said, almost moaning at the taste. ‘This shit’s good.’I was amused. The guy was ravenously friendly. Somewhere, not far off, I saw a figurerunning towards us. That thing was skipping, almost bounding toward us in excitement.Aditya recognized the figure and his eyes lit up as the figure too gave a squeal of joy.‘Dude!’ he said and, dropping the Frankie, hugged her. The girl was about my age, a fewinches shorter than me but extremely attractive. She hugged him back. ‘Oh my God,
where’ve you been for so many days?’Awkwardness started flooding inside me again. Aditya noted my presence and quicklyreleased her. ‘Dude,’ he said. ‘This is my cousin.’ Then he noticed the mess he created bydropping the Frankie. ‘Oh shit, I dropped it, did I? Wait, I am going to run and get one foreach of you. Hang in there. Won’t be long ’‘Well,’ the girl turned from a scampering Aditya to look at me. ‘What’s your name, didyou say?’‘I didn’t,’ I said almost reflexively. ‘Did I?’‘Let’s try again,’ she chuckled. ‘What’s your name?’‘Nikhil,’ I said.‘I am Roshni,’ she said, extending her hand.My face brightened. ‘Roshni, did you say?’‘Yeah, why?’‘Pleased to meet you,’ I beamed and offered my hand. She shook it.Was it a tingling sensation I felt?
. I Love you Rachu .
A Train to My MarriageVANDANA SHARMAI am afraid of heights of all kinds—valleys, mountains, rivers, railway station bridges andeven relationships make me sick. And today I am going to experience all of them.‘Krishna, come fast, we will miss the train!’ Mom shouts, breaking my train of thought.‘I would be glad if I could,’ I mutter, putting on my dark brown blazer.One more addition to my Hate List is this goddamned winter season. I am very sensitiveto getting a bad cough in this season and I cannot bear the chill. So I have put as manywoollens in my bag as on my body.Here comes the auto rickshaw.‘Come, come, everyone get inside,’ Dad says.‘What the hell, Krishna! How many clothes have you stuffed in your bag? It is way tooheavy!’ screams Anoop, my brother.‘Don’t worry, I will take my luggage myself. You don’t have to bother about it.’I immediately regret the sentence after saying it. It is heavy! Uff!Soon we are in front of a big—no, actually a monstrously huge—railway bridge.‘Okay, I can do this.’I try to be a brave girl. I am not going to look down. But the combination of loudlyhooting trains and my immense fear of heights makes the situation more horrific. When itcomes to heights, I can be a total freak.‘Here are our seat numbers,’ says Mom when we board the train.I take my laptop and climb on to the upper berth. As it is an all-night journey, everybodywill be asleep soon and I am going to watch the Korean movie My Little Bride. I loveromantic Korean movies.By the time it’s 3 a.m. I feel sleepy. But first I have go to the loo, so I just wait for thetrain to stop at any station. That’s one more addition to my list of phobias—I cannot go tothe loo when the train is moving. Now you must be getting a clearer idea of my freakishness.I doze off later. Then suddenly it’s raining and I’m all drenched; a wave of water comesto drown me and I’m awake!‘Holy shit, Anoop! Are you fucking out of your mind!’ It turns out to be part of a dream,and Anoop was trying to wake me up by pouring water on my face.He laughed stupidly and said, ‘We are almost about to reach Ambala.’Yes, we are going to our village which is located in Ambala. It’s always been veryexciting for me to go there but this time it’s a little different. I am going to face my fear ofrelationships.
We are going to meet D.S. Sharma Uncle and his family. And I am sure of the real reasonwe are meeting the family—they want me to marry Sharma Uncle’s one and only son wholives with them in their farmhouse. Their family is very affluent but I never wanted a manwho lives in a remote area and is a farmer. I think he must be barely a graduate—a narrowminded control freak. Men in villages want housewives, not working girls.The train arrives at the station. Coolies are competing to get into the train. Everybodyrushes out of the train except me. I am struggling with my bag and suddenly I tumble on tothe platform, head over heels. Shit! I just fell from the train. God! Can I do this any better?Fuck, fuck, fuck Before I can manage to get up myself, a hand comes through the crush of bodies to myrescue. Without looking at who it was who offered to help me get up, I grab that hand andpull myself up. Having stood up, I immediately start brushing my clothes. Then I look up tothank the man who helped me I’m struck dumb. He is dangerously handsome.‘Thank you.’ This is all I manage to say.He is wearing a white kurta–pyjama. The top buttons of his kurta are unbuttoned. Hisperfectly trimmed muscles can be seen; his biceps give the perfect shape to his arms. Is henot feeling cold? May be he is already too hot.Suddenly his voice breaks the spell, ‘Are you okay?’‘Yes, thank you again,’ I say, hesitant and embarrassed.‘How many times I have to tell you to be careful!’ chides Mom.My brother is laughing as usual. Now he has got my ‘new train scandal’ to talk about forat least this month.I then realize that Sharma Uncle’s family has been there all this time. And the handsomeman is none other than his one and only son. I still don’t know his name. Now this is moreembarrassing.‘Please give me your bag,’ he says softly.‘No, I can manage,’ I muttered.‘Yes, I have seen that already,’ he grins as he almost snatches my bag from me.Soon we are in their car—an Endeavor. It is cozy inside. He is driving the car and I canfeel butterflies in my stomach. I still don’t know his name.Finally we have arrived at the farmhouse. It is beautiful, completely surrounded bynature. The entrance gate is covered with some kind of flowering creeper. There is anameplate: SHARMA’S RESIDENCE. The building itself is breathtakingly gorgeous. Couldthere be anything else that one can want in life?We are in our separate rooms now. I am feeling very sleepy so I just snuggle under myquilt and sleep.When I wake up, it’s dark outside. Looking out the window, I’m trying to recollect mythoughts and then I realize that this is not my room. I get up and go downstairs to the mainhall.Everybody is there having dinner. Crap I realize I slept all day.
‘Come, dear, have dinner,’ said Aunty.Mrs Sharma is a beautiful lady and anybody can see where her son gets his good looksfrom.Mr Perfect is also there, sitting beside my mom and talking about his work. Huh, whatattitude He didn’t even notice me? As if I care After dinner, we return to our rooms. Now everybody is going to sleep when I’m wideawake Thank God I have my laptop with me.Somebody knocks at the door. ‘May I come in?’‘Yes,’ I answer,And here he is—Mr Perfect.‘Mom has asked if you need anything.’‘No, thank you,’ I say, smiling.He is about to leave when he suddenly turns and asks, ‘What are you doing on yourlaptop?’‘Nothing, just watching a movie.’‘Can I join you?’‘Oh! Okay,’ I say. I’m surprised, especially after how he totally ignored me at the dinnertable.‘Korean movie, haan That too romantic?’ he says, grinning.‘I like romantic Korean movies,’ I say abruptly.‘Don’t you have horror movies?’Okay, I got you. You are trying to flirt with me. Although, I think, he has succeeded tosome extent. I am impressed.‘Yes, I have them, but it would be better if you don’t watch it with me. I scream whilewatching horror movies although I don’t even watch most part of the movie. I cover my eyesall the time so that if any thing shitty happens I can close my eyes immediately.’‘Okay, then let’s watch your romantic Korean movie,’ he says, grinning again.‘By the way, what is your name?’ I ask.‘You don’t know my name?’ Now he does not seem very pleased.‘We didn’t have a moment to get properly introduced before,’ I explain.‘Hmm Okay My name is Daksh,’ he says, stretching out his hand towards me.‘And I am Krishna,’ I say, reaching out to shake his hand. As I touch his hand, a quiverruns through my body. His hand is warm, in sharp contrast to my cold hand.It is always risky to watch romantic movies with parents or with a hot guy like him.Suddenly, the hero and heroine are getting closer on the screen, and I begin to feel veryconscious, even embarrassed. I try to move so that I can fast forward the movie, but I justcannot. Now they are kissing each other ferociously. The hero unzips the heroine’s skirt andmoves his hands all over her thighs. The heroine then helps the hero to unbutton his jeans,after which the hero mounts her, and is then inside her. And after both of them are fully
exhausted, they fall into bed and hug each other tightly. The hero kisses the heroine gently onher forehead. Oh this forehead-kissing scene is my favourite. And thus the movie goeson.Slyly, I try to peek at Mr Perfect’s face. He is calm but I can see his facial musclesclenching as he tries to hide his smile.The movie finishes at 1 a.m. He gets up to leave.‘Goodnight, Krishna.’‘Goodnight, Mr Perr err Daksh.’Narrowing his eyes, he leaves the room.The next morning I get out of my room, brush my teeth, pick up my sneakers and head outto the fields. It is a very cold, foggy December morning, so I’m wrapped up in thickwoollens.What was I doing last night? Talking to myself. Even now, my thoughts are focused onhim. I know he is handsome but still I’m sure he is a narrow-minded control freak.As I remain lost in my own thoughts, my foot suddenly slams against a heavy stone. Istumble into a slushy part of the path. Apart from landing like a fool into the slush, I realize Ihave hurt my foot.‘Need any help, Miss?’Oh, it is him! What is he doing here? Why is he always there to rescue me from my owndisasters? Oh!I clear my throat. ‘I can manage ’ I say, trying not to look at his face.‘You are very stubborn, Krishna. Just give me your hand.’I offer my hand hesitantly. He clutches it tightly to help me get up; again I can feel the coldeven more I stand up, stumbling, holding on to his shoulder for support.As we enter the house, everybody is surprised to see both of us.‘Hey, what happened?’ asked Mom.‘Nothing, Mom. Your dear princess fell again,’ he says, grinning. Everybody laughs atthis.Huh! How dare he? And why is he calling my mother ‘Mom’?Oh, my suspicion was right!Or maybe not?I must know for certain. So the next time I find him alone, I confront him. He is sitting at adesk, doing some accounting work.‘I want to talk to you,’ I say.‘Krishna, I am busy right now. Can we talk later?’My big negative point is my egoistic attitude.‘Why did you call my mother “Mom”?’ I ask.He looks up. ‘Is that a problem?’ he asks, keeping his accounting book aside. Standing up,he then comes close to me.
‘Yes,’ I said, stuttering. ‘She is my mom, so you cannot call her that.’‘Oh, really?’He walks a little closer. Crap! I cannot move I want to step back but I find myselfsimply unable to move. I need water; it is getting too hot here.Suddenly he pulls me into his arms. My mouth is so close to his. He is looking into myeyes. I am trying to look down, afraid that he can read my eyes and can see into my soul. Helifts up my chin and gently runs his thumb over my lips. For that moment I forget everythingaround us. All I can focus on, apart from the sensation of being held by him, are his darkbrown eyes. Oh boy, he is the only man around whom I can feel mushy without evenwatching a romantic movie.‘Krishna ’ a voice comes suddenly from another room.I push him away and manage to calm myself.It was Anoop asking me to come to the hall. ‘Mom is calling you.’In that moment, my heartbeat thuds very rapidly. I rush to attend to my mother.Later in the evening, we all make a plan to go to a famous restaurant in the city. As we getready for the outing, I consciously try to ignore what happened with Mr Perfect thatafternoon. But still I ensure to put on my best dress—and I realize how very pleased I am tohave taken the pains of bringing so many dresses with me on this trip.Am
LOVE STORIES THAT TOUCHED MY HEART Ravinder Singh is a bestselling author. I Too Had a Love Story, his debut novel, is his own story that has touched millions of hearts. Can Love Happen Twice? is Ravinder’s second novel. After spending most of his life in Burla, a very small town in western Orissa, Ravinder has finally settled down in Chandigarh.
