When Dimple Met Rishi

by Sandhya Menon

  Rishi frowned slightly; his pencil stopped moving. He looked up at her with those honey eyes. “What are you asking? Why would I want to go out with you if it doesn’t involve marriage as the end result?”

  Dimple was grateful for the misty darkness. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I thought that was the whole point for you. Marriage, following your parents’ wishes, all of that. And if it is, then I’m definitely not the girl who’s going to get you there.”

  Rishi set his notebook and pencil off to the side. He looked up at the stars, thinking, and Dimple felt her heart banging in her chest, afraid of what he was going to say. But also just wanting him to say it, to just rip the Band-Aid off. The scent of eucalyptus wafted at them in soft swaths. “I’m not going to lie. Culture and tradition are important to me.” He looked at her, his eyes shadowed. “Very important. It’s how I was raised, you know? It’s an incredible responsibility, being the first child . . . the first son. Especially since Ashish is so . . . Anyway. The point is, I don’t think he’d really respect Ma and Pappa’s wishes the way I will. The way I want to. So, yeah. Getting married is important to me. Giving my parents grandkids someday is important. Taking care of them in their old age, ditto.” Then, in one fluid motion, Rishi lay down on his belly so his face was near hers. He crossed his hands and put his chin on top of the backs of them. Their faces were no more than an inch apart. Dimple couldn’t breathe. He looked straight into her eyes as he spoke. “But you’re showing me that other things are important too. The point of dating you, Dimple Shah, is to get to know you. To spend time with you. To see the way you push your glasses up on your nose when you’re especially moved by whatever you’re saying. To smell your amazing shampoo. To feel your heart beating against mine. To see you smile. To kiss you.” He leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips. When she opened her eyes, he was smiling. “So maybe all that other stuff that’s important to me can take a backseat for now. And maybe I’m totally fine with that . . . if you are?”

  Dimple’s heart slowed down. She felt every muscle relaxing. “I am. I’m very fine with that.” She leaned in and kissed him again, tasting his lips, smiling when she heard the way his breath caught when their tongues met.

  When they pulled apart, Rishi grinned and sat back up, picking up his notebook and pencil again. He began sketching. “So. Now that we’ve put that issue to rest, tell me the truth. What’d you think of me when you first saw me?”

  “At the wedding? Or at Starbucks, when you randomly accosted me?” Dimple raised an eyebrow.

  Rishi laughed. “Both. Start with the wedding.”

  “At the wedding I thought you were cool. Like, how you sat there, just ripping up magazines that didn’t even belong to you. That would never even have occurred to me. At first I thought you were just some destructive, crazy boy, but then you began to make those flowers, and I was totally impressed. I was doubly impressed when my mamma’s voice didn’t make you flinch.”

  Rishi smiled, looking up at her quickly before looking back down again. “Want to know what I thought?”

  Dimple leaned forward. “Yes.”

  “I thought you were the loveliest bookworm I’d ever seen in my life.”

  She laughed and threw a blade of grass at him. “Oh please. You thought nothing of the kind.”

  “I did too!” he said, indignant. “Why else do you think I gave you my best flower?”

  Dimple didn’t know whether to believe him or not, but she flushed with pleasure anyway. “So, now tell me what you thought of me at the Starbucks. You know, right before I flung my coffee at you.”

  CHAPTER 36

  Rishi smiled wryly at her before looking back down at his drawing. “I thought you looked peaceful. You were sitting on the edge of that fountain, your face turned up to the sun. You looked like a flower, with that angelic halo of curls around you. Of course, I quickly realized how mistaken I was.”

  Dimple reached over and slapped his knee, but she was laughing too. “Shut up. You totally creeped me out with that whole future wife line! You should be glad I didn’t have pepper spray or throwing stars on me.” It was incredible, she thought, that they were laughing about this now. When it first happened, she’d been so sure that Rishi and she would have absolutely nothing to do with each other. But that was Rishi . . . he was like a pop song you thought you couldn’t stand, but found yourself humming in the shower anyway.

  “Noted,” he said, sketching away. “In my defense, I thought you were here because you knew about our parents’ nefarious plan too.”

  Dimple sighed. “Yeah. My parents are a whole other matter. You’re lucky you get along with yours so well.” But maybe it wasn’t lucky at all, she thought. Rishi agreed with everything his parents said or planned. Dimple didn’t. There was a fundamental difference in how they related to their parents.

  “Your mom sounds like she really cares for you.” When Dimple snorted, Rishi hurried to continue. “I mean, she’s calling you. She’s talking to you. She’s trying to be a part of your life.”

  Dimple laughed. “Trying to be a part of my life? You know, the same could be said about head lice. Or termites. Or botulism. Those bacteria are just trying to be a part of our lives!”

  Rishi smiled and set his pencil down. “Okay. Are you ready to see?”

  Dimple sat up in a hurry. “You’re done?”

  “Yep.” He handed her the notebook, his finger holding a spot between the pages. “Start there, and move forward. I sort of modeled these sketches after a creative exercise comic artists like to do. It’s called ‘twenty-five expressions.’ Basically, you sketch the same character with twenty-five different expressions, to sort of get to know your character better. That’s one of the first things I noticed about you. You wear your expressions on your face so plainly.”

  Dimple took the book, putting her finger in place of his so she didn’t lose the page either. “Really?”

  Rishi raised one eyebrow, as if to say, Are you kidding?

  Dimple opened the book. The first image was of her looking . . . nervous. Anticipatory. This was right when Rishi had begun to draw her. He’d captured the tentativeness she’d felt, the anxiety of how she might be perceived. She looked . . . beautiful, she realized.

  He’d drawn the entire thing sort of smudgy, to reflect how he saw her through the curtain of fog around them. Still, the details were arresting. There was a glow about her cheeks, a soft sparkle in her eyes. Her glasses made her look intelligent and artsy-nerdy, not geeky like she usually thought she looked. Her bun was a mass of wild curls, but not in the unkempt way she usually saw it in the mirror. She looked like she could be the model for some hair product. Was this how he saw her? She turned the page.

  In the second sketch, Dimple was laughing, her eyes squeezed shut at something Rishi must’ve said. She looked happy, carefree, like she’d forgotten herself. She liked that, to him, she was smart and pretty and funny all rolled into one. She turned the page.

  Each sketch showed her with a different expression, and in each one she found the basic essence of herself. He’d captured her in so much vibrant detail, even sitting here in the near-dark with just a flashlight app, that she knew: He’d been watching her even when she hadn’t noticed. He’d committed every detail of her face, her hair, her body, to memory. Even before this had turned into a real date for Dimple, this had been a real date for Rishi. He’d just been waiting for her to catch up to him.

  And, she realized with a thud, she’d been watching him, too. When she hadn’t been thinking of him, all she’d really been thinking about was him. That first day, after she got over the shock of him popping up out of nowhere, he’d caught her eye. Dimple hadn’t been looking for this . . . whatever it was between them at all. But somehow she had a feeling that love had found her. It was circling them, waiting for the perfect spot to land.

  Dimple didn’t know if she wanted it to. She didn’t know much beyond the fact that right now, she wanted to kiss Rishi. So she did.


  She set the book down, crawled over to him, and climbed in his lap. Dimple didn’t know where the courage came from, but she wrapped her legs around his waist, held his face in her hands, and kissed him until her lips were swollen and she couldn’t breathe anymore. When they pulled apart, he was looking at her, with his hands wrapped tightly around her, like he couldn’t believe his luck. Like she was a gilded winged apsara he’d just come upon in the woods.

  “Wow,” he finally managed to say, his voice breathless. “I should draw you more often.”

  Dimple laughed, wanting to tell him she’d kiss him even without him doing that, but then their lips met again, and she lost her train of thought.

  Hours or weeks or milliseconds later (time sort of did its own thing when Rishi was with Dimple, he’d noticed), they were in the convertible, driving back to campus. They’d talked for hours, until Rishi’s stomach had growled its impatience, and Dimple had insisted they go get some froyo at one of their favorite places near their dorms.

  He looked at her, sitting next to him, the city lights playing across her face and hair. She’d catch his eye and they’d laugh, surprised, disbelieving, that this was happening. That they were here, that this magic was for them, that it was real. At least, that’s what Rishi was thinking. Dimple may just have been laughing at the goofy expression on his face.

  “Don’t forget this,” Dimple said, patting A Wrinkle in Time in the center console. “Your assignment is to read it so we can discuss it later.”

  “Right. I’ll get right on it. My money is still on Charles Wallace being a terminator, though. Kid’s creepy.”

  Dimple laughed, and he had to stop himself from closing his eyes so he could just let the sound wash over him. Speaking of creepy, Patel. Jeez.

  CHAPTER 37

  A couple of days later Dimple and Rishi were sitting in the lecture hall, having a heated discussion (or as Rishi would say, arguing) about their app’s data diagram when Celia sank into the empty seat next to them with a sigh and a cloud of citrus perfume.

  Dimple looked at her. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m just taking a breather. You guys carry on; just ignore me.” She rummaged in her bag, purposely not meeting Dimple’s eye.

  Dimple resisted looking over her shoulder at the Aberzombies. Things between Evan and Celia must not be going well. She had walked over with him today after spending the night with him in his dorm.

  “Okay, everybody! I know you’re all busy cranking out your projects, but listen up for a second. I have something important to say.” Max stood at the front of the lecture hall, stroking his beard and smiling benevolently at them all.

  When everyone had quieted down, he continued. “All right. So we’re just about at the halfway mark of your six weeks here. I trust we’re all making good progress with our programs and apps. As you know, right around now is when we announce the fun part of Insomnia Con . . . the talent show. This year’s talent show will be held next weekend, on Saturday, at the Little Theater at seven p.m.”

  There was scattered applause, although some people—those of the introvert persuasion—groaned. Needless to say, the Aberzombies all looked like they might tear off their clothes and dance on the tables right then. Dimple pulled a face at Rishi.

  “The talent show is important because it’s a chance to really get a leg up on your competition,” Max continued, over the noise. “Historically, we’ve had a five-hundred-dollar prize for the pair of winning partners. However, due to the generosity of a donor this year, the prize has been upped to a cool grand. Remember, the goal is to get your project as finished as possible by the time Jenny Lindt looks at it, and this will go a long way toward helping you put your most polished foot forward.”

  Celia groaned and stood. “I guess I should go talk to my partner, figure out what we’re doing,” she said.

  Dimple waved to her and turned to Rishi. “Wow. We’re almost at the talent show already.” Her heart fluttered in a strange, unpleasant way.

  Rishi nodded, his face slack. “Yeah. Halfway through. Just three more weeks and we’ll be going home.”

  She waited for him to say more. To acknowledge what they hadn’t spoken about yet. What happened when this was all over?

  He opened his mouth and leaned in, his eyes serious and sharp. Dimple’s heart thundered. But then his eyes dimmed and he sat back. “So . . . do you have any idea of what you want to do for this thing?”

  Dimple swallowed her disappointment and nodded. Okay, focus. The talent show. That’s what was important now. “Yes,” she said firmly. “We’re doing a Bollywood dance.”

  Rishi stared at her. “What? You want to get up on a stage in front of a bunch of strangers and dance?”

  “I know. It doesn’t sound like me. But look at this.” Dimple clicked to open a spreadsheet and turned her laptop around. “I went back ten years—since the inception of Insomnia Con—and plotted out all the winners of the talent show. Look: 2007: dance; 2008: dance; 2009 and 2010? Dance. 2011 was a singing year, but 2012 again was dance, followed by magic in 2013, but in 2014, we have another dance! 2015 and 2016 were juggling and singing, respectively.” She looked at Rishi. “Do you know what this means?”

  “That . . . you’re a little too obsessed with Insomnia Con?”

  Dimple punched him in the ribs, and it was a testament to him having acclimated to her that he didn’t even flinch. “No. This is a dance year! I can feel it in my bones. The judges are clearly biased toward the dance category. And look, about a third of these winners were ethnic dances, but no one’s done a Bollywood dance yet. We have to do it.”

  “Okay, but you do realize this means we’ll have to get up onstage? And actually dance?” Rishi leaned forward in his chair. “Because I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re sort of an introvert.”

  “Yeah, I thought about that.” Dimple pulled her hair up into a bun and stuck her pen into it, dropping her gaze. “That’s why I picked a song where, um, I have a very small dancing part. It’s mainly all you.” She winced and darted a sidelong glance at him.

  “What! So you’re just going to sell me down the river so you can ride off into the sunset with your prize?” Rishi laughed. “I don’t think so.”

  “Look.” Dimple turned in her chair so he could get the full effect of her eyelash batting. Not that she was very skilled at it, but still. “You just look like one of those people who can dance well.” When he opened his mouth, probably to argue, she hurried on. “Okay, so not well, but decently?” He made an eeeh face. “You’re our big shot, Rishi. I can’t dance. I just get too nervous and weird and—I had this one performance, when I was nine? My mom made me do a bhangra dance for the Indian Association’s Diwali party. And I puked. Onstage. In front of everyone. It was humiliating.”

  “Oh, okay.” Rishi nodded, like he understood, and Dimple relaxed. “So you just want me to be humiliated instead.” He raised an eyebrow. “No, Dimple. This is your idea. Let’s do a dance where you have to do most of it.”

  Dimple hung her head and scratched at her scalp. “Uggh, then I guess we’ll just have to do something else.” She looked up at her Excel sheet, her heart sinking. Dancing was what would win the first place prize. She knew it in her heart. It would take her that much closer to Jenny Lindt. She’d been counting on Celia—who loved performing and attention and everything that made people exceptional at talent shows—to do the dance. But Rishi? Rishi was too much like her. She sighed. The truth was, she was still glad they were partners. They’d figure out a way.

  “Hey.” Rishi’s hand was on hers, and when she looked over, he was smiling. “I’ll do it.”

  She blinked. “You’ll do what?”

  “I’ll do the stupid dance.” He grinned. “But you owe me.”

  “Are you serious?” Dimple couldn’t help grinning too.

  “Totally. Now, tell me what song you were thinking of.”

  “I can do better than that. I can show you.” Still smiling, Dimple pu
lled out her headphones, plugged them in, and handed them to Rishi. “Thank you.” She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek before she could talk herself out of it, and his grin went supernova. Laughing, Dimple queued up “Dil Na Diya” from the movie Krrish on YouTube. “We can practice it after we get out of here, in your room.”

  While Rishi listened to the song, Dimple heard Celia’s voice, raised in anger. She turned around in her seat to see her yelling at Evan. “Well, I don’t want to do that! That’s total BS!” And then she turned and stalked away, slamming out of the lecture hall.

  CHAPTER 38

  Dimple turned to Rishi and mouthed, “I’ll be right back.” He nodded, apparently not having heard anything.

  She got up and raced after Celia, catching up with her in the hallway outside. Celia was splashing cold water from the water fountain on the back of her neck, her curls bunched up in one fist. Her cheeks were pink. When she saw Dimple, she let out a shaky breath. “Did you hear that?”

  “Yeah. I mean, just the last part, before you walked out. What’s going on? Are you okay?”

  Celia leaned her back against the wall, one knee bent, her foot pressed against the wall. Crossing her arms, she blew out a breath. “Evan’s being a total jerk. He wants to do a dance to this song, ‘Sexy Heat,’ with me and Isabelle and Hari. Have you heard it?”

  Dimple shook her head and took a seat on the bench next to the water fountain. It sounds like a real winner, she wanted to say, but managed to chomp down on her tongue somehow.

  “It’s total crap. Like, the entire song has the two girls in skimpy outfits dancing together while the guys talk about how hot they are. I mean, I get it. It’s just a talent show, whatever. Isabelle’s totally up for putting on a bikini and dancing with me onstage. But I just . . .” Celia mock-gagged. “It makes me feel gross. I mean, Isabelle’s gorgeous, don’t get me wrong.”