When Dimple Met Rishi
Page 32

Flipping it open, he grabbed a pencil from his bag and began to draw. “Oh, you’ll see, my friend,” he said. When Dimple tried to peek, he turned, shielding the page from her view.
She laughed. “So it’s like that?”
Rishi grinned but didn’t respond. In another minute he’d finished the sketch. He ripped out the paper, folded it, and passed it and the pencil over to her. It was silly, but his heart beat faster. This moment felt more serious than it had any right to feel.
• • •
Dimple opened the paper. It was an amazing sketch, which, if she hadn’t seen Rishi do in about a minute, she would have believed had taken a lot longer. It showed a boy, hair flopping in his eyes and bulging muscles ripping his shirt sleeves—Dimple snorted—handing a fierce-looking girl a paper flower. He’d captured her so perfectly in just a few strokes—her oversize square glasses, her wild hair, the furrow in her brow. Underneath the sketch, he’d written:
Will you go on a date with me?
Yes
No
Dimple took a deep breath as an uneasy pulse beat within her. He was trying to make it official, and she wasn’t sure she wanted official. She wasn’t sure what she wanted, really.
Underneath the “no,” she wrote in:
Other
And handed it back to Rishi.
He studied the paper, and she could see the slight disappointment tint his features. But when he looked back at her, he had rearranged his expression to reflect just curiosity. “Care to explain?”
Dimple reached over and turned off the flashlight app on her phone. Somehow it was easier to say things under cover of darkness. The foggy night worked as a salve, taking the sting out of words. “Rishi, I can’t be your girlfriend.”
A beat of silence. “Why not?” He said it softly, not as a judgment but simply in an effort to understand.
Dimple’s heart hurt. “It’s not why I’m here,” she forced herself to say firmly. She refused to be one of those girls who gave up on everything they’d been planning simply because a boy entered the picture. “You know I’m not looking for a relationship right now.”
“Even if the relationship feels right?”
She paused, listening to the sound of some distant partygoer screech in laughter. “Especially if.”
She saw Rishi nodding in her peripheral vision. In the quiet, she wondered if he was so hurt that he couldn’t bear to speak. Then, he turned to her, grinning. “Okay. So what? We don’t have to do the whole relationship thing. You can just go out with me, and we’ll call it a . . . a non-date.”
Dimple arched an eyebrow. “Rishi . . .”
“No, listen, it’s just like you and Celia going out, right? No strings attached. Neither of us has any expectations. We’ll just hang out.”
Dimple looked at his eager, open face, at the optimism and cheerfulness there, and felt her resolve melting. Sighing, she said, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Rishi’s grin broadened. He could taste the “yes” in the air, apparently. “You won’t. Just friends on a non-date.” He scribbled something on the paper and handed it back to Dimple.
It now said:
Will you go on a non-date with me?
Laughing, she checked the “yes” and hoped to heck they knew what they were doing.
CHAPTER 29
It was the Friday after the Big Kiss, as Dimple and Celia had dubbed it.
To her credit, when Dimple mentioned it, Celia had squealed in delight, ordered pizza from the twenty-four-hour place around the corner, and made Dimple tell her every single detail, ad nauseam, so she could help dissect everything. Dimple had tried to explain that she didn’t need to do that—that Dimple, in fact, was the one holding back in the non-relationship, but Celia seemed unable to grasp the concept.
After a couple of minutes of silence she’d said, “You guys are like Raj and Simran.”
Dimple had stared at her. “Raj and Simran? Like, in Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge ?”
Celia nodded. “Mmm-hmm.”
“How do you know that movie?”
“When you and I began to talk on the boards, I thought I should watch a couple of Bollywood movies on Netflix, figure out how to be sensitive to your culture and all that.” Celia grinned, hanging her head upside down off the bed, her massive pile of curly hair brushing the floor. “Course, that was before I knew you were more American than me.”
Dimple snorted. “Well, it was a nice thought anyway.”
“You guys are just, like, fated to be together, y’know?”
Dimple sighed and lay down. “I don’t believe in fate,” she said, although she and Rishi had talked about kismet at the party. “I believe in logic. And logically, I shouldn’t go out on this non-date with him.”
• • •
In class now, Rishi beamed. “This is what I have so far. What do you think?”
Dimple looked at Rishi’s sketches, her excitement tempered by the nerves that had begun manifesting themselves every time she looked at him after that night. It was like her body immediately remembered he was the one she’d locked lips with, even though it had been a week, and tried to turn her into a gibbering, flirtatious idiot. Well, she wasn’t a gibbering, flirtatious idiot. She’d just have to remember that and forget the kiss had ever happened. Or the fact that their non-date was tonight.
The butterflies in her stomach began beating their restless wings again at the thought, and Dimple tried not to groan. What the heck was wrong with her? “These are amazing,” she said a little too loudly, hoping to distract her own brain from its traitorous thoughts. And truly, Rishi had done a remarkable job. He’d sketched out a detailed layout for their app, using the placement Dimple had suggested. Every button was vibrant, humorous, exactly what she’d wanted.
“I’m glad you like it,” Rishi said, leaning closer to point out something. Dimple got a waft of his cologne, something subtle but deeply male that reminded her of oak trees in the summer sun. Her head almost swam with the memory of their kiss, and she had to blink several times to get her thoughts back on track. “ . . . can do that, if you’d like?”
He was looking at her now, those gorgeous honey-brown eyes warm and expectant. Dang. She had no idea what he’d asked. “Um, yeah, sure,” she said, itching the back of her neck.
He smiled quietly to himself, like he knew where her mind had been, and put away the sketch. Stretching his long legs out in front of him, Rishi folded his hands behind his head, a lock of shiny black hair flopping into his eye. “So,” he said, a mischievous flicker in his smile, “you ready for our non-date?”
Dimple caught herself wondering again if this was a bad idea. It’s fine , she tried to convince herself for the millionth time. It was a non-date, and she wanted to go on it. That wasn’t a big deal. She wasn’t compromising any of her values. “Yep.” She fiddled with the wheel on her mouse. “Where do you want to go? I don’t really know this area too well. . . .”
Rishi waved a hand. “I’ve got it all taken care of. I spoke to a few of the guys on my floor, and they recommended a couple of places. Then I Googled stuff, and voilà. Non-date is all planned out.” He grinned.
Those stupid butterflies surged up again at his smile. And the way he was looking at her. And the fact that his hair was so sexy-floppy-messy. “Great.” Dimple heard the wobble in her voice and tried not to wince. “Can’t wait.”
“Pick you up at seven?”
Before she could respond, Isabelle—whom they hadn’t talked to since they’d eaten together at the restaurant almost two weeks ago—came over. Her presence was preceded by the smell of her perfume, something fruity and bubbly that threatened to choke Dimple with two hands. She muffled a cough.
Isabelle stood in front of Rishi, hands clasped before her as she fiddled with one of many rings she wore. Her booty shorts barely covered her booty. Wasn’t she cold? It was foggy and damp outside. But Isabelle’s midriff looked tan and happy beneath the sheer white tank top she wore. Before she could stop herself, Dimple found herself glancing at Rishi to see if he noticed. She also couldn’t stop the surge of vindication when all she saw was annoyance splashed across his every feature.