When Dimple Met Rishi
Page 38

Rishi smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear. That was quickly becoming her Favorite Thing. Besides kissing him, obviously. “She’s your Leo Tilden, huh?” He lay down all the way and stretched out his arm under her head.
Dimple glanced at him, her heart hammering. Rishi’s eyes were hopeful, but respectful. He didn’t expect it. After a pause, Dimple lay down and put her head on his chest. Rishi sighed, a deep, humming thing that echoed in his chest and her ears.
Dimple smiled up at the sky. “Yeah. She’s my Leo Tilden.” They listened to the wind in the eucalyptus trees awhile. Somewhere below them, a dog barked. “Speaking of Leo, was that a notebook I felt in your pocket before? My hand brushed against it.”
“Observant. Yes, it is. I always have to have a sketch pad with me. I left the big one at the dorm, but I had to bring this one.”
“So . . . can I see it?”
Rishi laughed. “Yes, but on one condition.”
She frowned. “Okay . . .”
“You have to let me sketch you.”
Dimple sat up and looked at him. “What the what?”
Rishi grinned and rolled over onto his side again, propping his head up on one hand. She could barely see him now; the light was fading fast. “Let me sketch you, and you can look at my book.”
Dimple gestured to the sky. “It’s dark. How are you going to sketch?”
“Well . . .” Rishi pulled out his phone. “Someone gave me the great idea to install a flashlight app.”
Dimple groaned. “I’m not the most photogenic person.” Her cheeks heated as she said the words. She didn’t exactly want to call attention to that fact right now, on their first date.
Rishi put his fingers under her chin until she met his eye. “You. Are. Beautiful. Lajawab . My only worry is that I might not be able to do you justice.”
CHAPTER 35
Dimple rolled her eyes, even though the butterflies in her stomach began to flutter up a tiny tornado. Lajawab. Translated literally it meant without answer . “Okay, fine. But only because I get to see your sketchbook after.” Self-consciously, she adjusted Celia’s gauzy dress over her thighs. “How do you want me?”
Rishi jerked his head up to look at her, and she blushed, realizing the double entendre of her words. Thankfully, he looked just as flustered as she felt. Rubbing the back of his neck with the hand that held his pencil, he said, “Ah, just . . . maybe just lie down like you were. You can prop yourself up on your elbows if you want. Whatever’s most comfortable.”
Dimple lay down again, supremely aware of every movement she was making. The damp grass had cooled even more with nightfall, and it tickled under the backs of her knees. She turned over on her side so she was facing Rishi, one hand supporting the side of her head as she watched him smooth out the small sketch pad. In the blue-white light of the flashlight app, his hands shook just the slightest bit as he picked up his pencil.
Rishi looked at her, his gaze sweeping from her eyes to her lips to her collarbone to her chest, her waist, the curve of her hips. Dimple felt warm in spite of the cool breeze; the gauze of Celia’s dress seemed to cling tighter to every part of her body.
Rishi made the first strokes, his hand dwarfing the stub of charcoal pencil that had obviously been sharpened many, many times. The more he drew, the more his expression became intent, focused, consumed. He wasn’t sitting there next to her anymore, she knew. He looked up every so often, but he didn’t really see her as Dimple. The thought was strangely disquieting, like she didn’t really know him. Rishi the artist and Rishi Patel, whom she was on a date with—were they the same person?
When he turned the page, Rishi looked up and smiled, his face relaxed again. Dimple felt a tremor of relief to see him back. This , she thought. This is what he meant when he said he couldn’t do it as a half measure. He lives his art. If he did it full-time, there might not be time for anything or anyone else.
“Still comfortable?” Rishi asked her, his voice gentle. “You can move if you need to—it won’t bother me.”
Dimple adjusted her body a little and tried to peek. “Can I see what you have yet?”
Rishi laughed and shielded his notebook with his hand. “Not yet. Soon, I promise. I want to do a small series of things. Okay, now you can just talk to me.”
“Talk?” She frowned slightly and pushed up her glasses. Rishi began to sketch again. “Talk about what?”
“Anything at all.” Rishi looked up at her, briefly, and then back down at his page again.
“Hmm, okay.” Dimple played with a blade of grass. She knew what she wanted to say, but it caught in the back of her throat like a fish bone. “You, um . . .” She cleared her throat. In her peripheral vision, Rishi looked up at her and then back down again. “I don’t want to get married anytime soon. Maybe not ever. This date doesn’t change that.”
She did look at him then, and his hand paused. He looked up at her. “I know. You said that already. I didn’t think this date changed anything.” He smiled and looked back down, resuming his sketching.
Dimple should let it go. Right now. Just. Let. It. Go. “So then what’s the point?” She heard herself ask instead. “I mean, wasn’t that why you talked to me that first day? That’s why you decided to come, right? Because you thought I knew about this whole thing our parents had arranged.”
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.”