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Sameer Gudhate presents the Book Review of Once in Cape Town By Sanchit Grover

  • Writer: Sameer Gudhate
    Sameer Gudhate
  • 3 hours ago
  • 3 min read

A few months ago, I stood at Mumbai airport, watching planes take off, wondering what kind of stories the pilots flying them held close. Once in Cape Town gave me one. Sanchit Grover, a pilot turned author, brings us his second book after Luck, Fluke or Destiny? —but this time, he doesn't just tell a story; he straps you into a cockpit of emotions, lets you fall in love mid-air, and crash into something darker on the runway of reality. What makes this book uniquely compelling is that it doesn’t follow the typical romantic arc. It starts with love but ends somewhere else entirely.


Meet Veer Malhotra—first officer, a little reckless, wildly charming, and a man who feels most at home above the clouds. He thinks he’s flying into Cape Town for just another job. What he doesn’t expect is Zaira. She’s not just another pretty face—she’s the calm before a storm he never saw coming. Their chemistry is electric. But just as quickly as she enters his life, she vanishes. Missing. And guess who the last person she was seen with is? You guessed it. Veer. What follows isn’t a love story—it’s a psychological unravelling set against the sunlit backdrop of Cape Town’s beaches and the shadows of its police rooms.


Grover writes like someone talking to you over a late-night drink—raw, sarcastic, sometimes poetic, sometimes profane. His prose is informal but honest. One moment he’s making you laugh with a line like “the cops were built like retired sumo wrestlers,” and the next he’s slicing into your heart with a quiet moment of heartbreak. His first-person narration pulls you right into Veer’s head, making the tension and confusion visceral.


Veer isn’t a perfect hero. That’s what makes him so real. He’s layered—ambitious, wounded, vulnerable, and sometimes impulsive to the point of self-destruction. Zaira, though absent for half the book, lingers like a fragrance you can’t place but can’t forget. And then there’s Yasmeen—the sister, the emotional anchor, the silent storm. Grover’s characters don’t perform—they exist. And through them, he explores themes like ambition, emotional paralysis, masculinity, and the kind of love that isn’t all hearts and flowers.


The narrative begins as a breezy love story and freefalls into a psychological mystery. The entire last chapter plays out like a taut Netflix crime drama—tight room, bad lighting, three cops, and one suspect. Every revelation feels like a slow pull of the rug beneath your feet. The pacing? It’s brilliant. The transitions between genres—from romance to thriller—are so smooth you don’t notice until you're already holding your breath.


Grover weaves in themes that echo far beyond the page—how relationships collapse under the weight of unfulfilled dreams, how emotional distance can be more fatal than physical, and how fragile trust really is. There’s also an unmissable undertone about how men process heartbreak, suspicion, and shame—a voice not often heard in romantic thrillers.


The final chapter left me breathless. Not because of some shocking twist, but because of the emotional implosion happening in real-time. Yasmeen breaking down, the earring on the table, the silent video on the screen—it felt like standing in the middle of someone else’s heartbreak with no way to stop it.


Grover’s ability to blend romance with suspense is his superpower. The emotional depth of his characters, the vivid Cape Town setting, and the unpredictability of the plot make this book a compelling read. His dialogues—often laced with wit and tension—are a highlight.


If I had to nitpick, Zaira’s character could’ve been given more voice in the present. Most of what we know is through Veer or others. And the writing style—casual and profanity-laced—may not suit traditional readers. But these are small trade-offs for a story that otherwise grips you so tightly.


As someone who reads for emotion first, plot second—I was hooked. Veer’s unravelling felt personal. I’ve known men like him. I’ve been like him—saying “I’m fine” when I’m anything but. That’s why the book stayed with me.


Once in Cape Town is more than a love story—it’s a slow-burn tragedy disguised as a romantic getaway. Sanchit Grover delivers a story that’s cinematic, emotional, and deeply human. If you’re looking for a book that starts like a postcard and ends like a punch to the gut, take this flight. I’m just hoping his next landing is even smoother—and a bit less heartbreaking.




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