Can Love Happen Twice?

By: Ravinder Singh

Penguin Metro Reads

Can Love Happen Twice?

Ravinder Singh is a bestselling author. His debut novel I Too Had a Love Story has touched millions of hearts. Can Love Happen Twice? is his second book. After spending most of his life in Burla, Orissa, Ravinder has finally settled down in Chandigarh. Having worked as a computer engineer for several years at some of India’s prominent IT companies, Ravinder is now pursuing his MBA at the world-renowned Indian School of Business, Hyderabad. Ravinder loves playing snooker in his free time. He is crazy about Punjabi music and loves dancing to its beat. The best way to contact Ravinder is through his official fan page on Facebook. You can also write to him at [email protected] or visit his website

To my readers who love me, believe in me and encourage me to write more.

This one is for you.

Before You Read Further …

Now that I have completed this book, which is only a short while away from coming out in print, it is important for me to tell you who I am and why I am writing this book.

I am an author by chance. A lot of good and bad things happen in life, just by chance. My first book I Too Had a Love Story was an outcome of the tragedy in my life and, honestly, was my reason to survive. Never before had I thought of becoming an author. But I am blessed to share that the book that I wrote as a tribute to my girlfriend has fetched immense love and respect from my readers.

The impact of the story on my readers was such that I received (and keep receiving) uncounted emails, scraps and messages from them. They share their respective love stories and I must say that they literally pour out their hearts while writing to me. Sadly for me, many of those writings have sad endings. They feel at peace after sharing their true stories with me. But having read those messages I realized that you don’t always need a wild truck racing madly on the road to kill a love story, the way it happened in my story. Most of the time I found that people themselves have killed their love stories. They call it ‘break up’.

The ever-increasing numbers of such emails made me comprehend that, these days, ‘Heartbreak’ is a far more rampant disease than ‘Heart Attack’. And, unfortunately, insurance covers just the latter. This is the very reason behind writing this book.

So is this book again my true story?

I believe that every fiction is inspired by a true story. Maybe this is my story, maybe not, maybe it is only partly my story, maybe not, maybe it is an amalgamation of several stories that my readers write to me, maybe not. I don’t want to reveal how much fact and how much fiction there is in my story. Rather, I want you to discover it with your own imagination. But I will leave you with this one truth, and believe me when I say this: it is our generation’s true story. This is the prime reason I have dedicated this book to my readers. As you read this story I want you to put yourself in the shoes of Ravin and enjoy reading your own story.


What can you say about a guy who lost his girlfriend by the time the two of them were to exchange their engagement rings?

That he plunged into the deepest ocean of trauma? That, for whatever happened, he lost his faith in God? That he was so madly immersed in the love of his mortal girlfriend that, after she was gone, forever, he wrote an immortal love story in her memory?

Or maybe that, after a long interval of time, one day, love knocked at his door once again?


Dusk had fallen when Amardeep walked out of the exit gate of the busy Chandigarh airport. A chilly winter welcomed him for the very first time to ‘The City Beautiful’. The evening was even more beautiful for it was Valentine’s Day. Love was in the air and red was the colour everywhere. The temperature must have been close to 4 degrees. Adding to the winter chill was the cool breeze which was blowing that evening, compelling the just-arrived passengers to pull out their jackets.

Enjoying the initial few moments, Amardeep let his body feel and embrace the cold surrounding him, but he could not bear it for long. Soon he pulled out his jacket and zipped it up till his neck. The foggy breath that he exhaled was visible. It was that cold.

At the exit door, the constant announcements, the honking taxis, the crazy relatives and the masses of passengers all made the place chaotically noisy. A few taxi drivers had besieged Amardeep, offering him a paid ride. Amid the hustle-bustle of getting a passenger one of the drivers almost lifted his bag and asked,

‘Kithey jaana hai, paaji?’

Amardeep quickly retaliated by snatching his luggage back from him. With this gesture he signalled his disagreement to take a cab.

He then made his way out of the gathering. In one hand he had his favourite Economic Times and a half-filled water bottle while in the other he held the handle of his wheeled bag which he rolled in tandem with his walk. He walked up till the parking lot where there was not much of a crowd. The place was calm. Underneath a row of tall lamp posts, there stood scores of cars. Amardeep perched his back against the bonnet of the first car in the series. By then the exposed parts of his body had turned cold. He placed the newspaper on the bonnet and put the water bottle over it to prevent it from flying off with the wind. Looking here and there in search of someone, he rubbed his cold palms against each other and breathed out a puff of warm air to warm them up.

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