When Dimple Met Rishi
Page 58
Her phone rang again. Home, the display said, which meant it was Papa and Mamma’s landline.
Dimple took a hitching breath and answered. “Hello?” Ugh. Her voice sounded all watery even to her own ears.
“Dimple?” It was Papa, sounding concerned and fatherly and soft and all the things that made her want to cry even more. Her throat hurt with the effort of holding it in. “Kaisi ho, beti?”
“My idea didn’t win,” she sort of whispered, just wanting to get it out of the way. A tear dribbled down her cheek and she brushed it away with a fist.
“Oh, beta . . . these things happen, hmm?”
She shook her head, more tears falling, her face screwed up with the effort of trying not to cry. “I’m sorry, Papa,” she said finally, her voice breaking.
“Sorry? Kis liye? For what?”
“I let you down. I asked Mamma and you for the money, and then I totally just blew it. I don’t even know what I did wrong, so I can’t fix it. They didn’t give us any feedback, and this was all such a bad idea, all of it. . . .” Dimple dissolved into sobs, her glasses fogging over, snot leaking from her nose.
“Dimple,” Papa said, his voice quiet and firm. “This was not a bad idea. It was a great idea. You went there and you did what you are passionate about. Don’t be sorry. Be proud, like I am.”
Dimple sniffled. “You’re . . . proud? You don’t think this was all a colossal failure?”
“No, no, no. Absolutely not.” She heard the smile in Papa’s voice, and it made her smile too. “Ab tum ghar kab aa rahi ho?”
“I’ll drive home tomorrow morning. I told Mamma.” She frowned. “Where is she, by the way?” She would’ve expected Mamma to wrench the phone from Papa and deliver unneeded advice. She’d probably have told Dimple to pack it in and get married, to take this as a sign from the gods. The gods. She was starting to sound like Rishi. Dimple closed her eyes at the thought of him, at the thought of the decision she had to make that she didn’t want to.
“Oh, she went to Seema and Ritu’s house to watch Mahabharata. But actually I think she wanted to see Ritu’s new curtains. She was telling me Seema hates them, but Ritu forced her to buy them anyway.”
Dimple rolled her eyes and tried not to laugh. “Great. Well, I guess I’ll be hearing about all that soon enough.”
She hung up and sat in the silence again, the temporary lightness she’d felt from the conversation already receding. Papa could say he wasn’t disappointed. It didn’t matter. Dimple was disappointed with herself. And she was mad.
She set her phone down so she wouldn’t be tempted to fling it across the room. The shock of losing to those idiots had tempered her rage yesterday, but it was back now, full force. It was so unfair. Hari, Evan, and Isabelle had not deserved to win. Yesterday, Celia had told Dimple her theory: that the founders of Insomnia Con had been in Hari’s dad’s pocket from the beginning. Apparently Hari knew them all by their first names; they’d all been to his house for dinner just a few months before the contest began.
It made sense. Dimple remembered hearing Evan say at the talent show that Hari’s parents had donated the new computer science wing. They hadn’t gotten kicked out for fighting. And the most telling of all—they’d won Insomnia Con with their stupid frat boy drinking game idea. Dimple’s app would’ve changed lives. Well, their app might too, she thought wryly. Getting rushed to the hospital in the back of an ambulance for alcohol poisoning was life changing, right?
Her phone beeped with a text, and she peeked at the screen.
Pick you up for brunch in thirty minutes?
Rishi. Dimple hung her head, guilt and resentment jostling for space in her chest.
Something had changed. Ever since Celia had made that comment yesterday . . . but no, it had started before that. Things were fine when she and Rishi were just dating, when there were no boxes around their relationship. But the moment he’d asked for a commitment to try and make this work long-distance . . . something had shifted.
And now she’d lost Insomnia Con. There was no doubt about it—if they hadn’t been going out, she would’ve spent almost all of her free time working on her prototype. Tweaking it. Making it better. And maybe one of those tweaks would’ve sent her over the edge. Maybe she would’ve been so good that they couldn’t have ignored her, not even for Hari.
She picked up the phone and keyed in, No, have a headache. Napping instead.
! But Jenny Lindt will be in at noon. You could talk to her.
Jenny Lindt would be at the Spurlock building speaking with Hari et al. about their stupid winning idea. Dimple had no desire to meet her now, rank with defeat. Seeing the Aberzombies gloat would likely send her sailing off the edge, and she didn’t want murder on her conscience.
Nah, think I’ll skip. Talk to you later.
She hadn’t spoken to Rishi face-to-face since the results yesterday. He’d been good about giving her space, but she knew he was probably starting to wonder. Guilt clutched at her as she thought of his open, honest brown eyes. His sweet, goofy smile. His hands on her waist.
The truth was, maybe they’d come to the end of their path together. Maybe it was time to say good-bye.
Rishi watched Celia inhale another doughnut. Ashish reached across her and pulled a cruller onto his plate. How could they eat like that? Rishi’s own stomach felt like khishmish— a dry, desiccated, shriveled raisin.
They were at the cafeteria, as were pretty much all of the Insomnia Con participants, eating brunch before Hari, Evan, and Isabelle’s meeting with Jenny Lindt. Afterward, other people who wanted to speak with her could have a few minutes too. Rishi had been looking forward to it for Dimple, but now he wasn’t so sure. He patted a USB stick in his pocket, wondering if what he had planned was a good idea after all.
“Are you sure she’s just depressed about losing?” he asked for the eighteenth time.
Celia wiped pink icing off the corner of her mouth with a napkin, and Ashish’s eyebrows knit together sympathetically. This was something he could get used to—a brother who actually felt something for him other than dismissive exasperation. Celia put a hand on his. “I really think so,” she said. “She’s barely said a word to me, and I live with her. She’s taking it hard, but she’ll bounce back. You know how she is. This isn’t going to hold her back.”
From the far end of the cafeteria, they heard a whoop and then guffaws of laughter as Hari got on the cafeteria table, stripped off his shirt, and twirled it around. Evan clapped and cheered him on. Isabelle was nowhere to be seen.
“Idiots,” Celia muttered. “I can’t believe they won.”
“Me either.” Ashish reached out and squeezed her hand. After a moment, he turned to Rishi. “Bhaiyya, I feel like Dimple and I are pretty similar in some ways. So just give her some time. I think she probably needs to lick her wounds for a bit before she gets back up.”
Rishi nodded and took a sip of his tea. He could do that. And, in the meantime, he’d move forward with his plan.
CHAPTER 54
There was an almighty bang as the door opened. Dimple groaned under the covers. A moment later, she felt the bed shift as someone sat down.
“Dimple?” Celia’s voice behind her was soft but firm. “It’s time for you to get up now. We’re all worried.”
She opened her eyes a touch. It was gloomy in the room, either dusk or dawn. “What time is it?” she asked, her voice just a croak.
“Seven p.m. How long have you been napping? You missed lunch.”
Dimple turned over. Celia looked down at her, her hazel eyes worried. Her hair was held back by a cloth headband with sequins sewn in. “Couple of hours.”
Celia smoothed a curl off Dimple’s forehead, her face full of compassion. Dimple swallowed so she wouldn’t tear up. Taking a deep breath, Celia sat up straighter. “All right. It’s time to get up and get dressed. We’re going out.”
Dimple frowned. The thought of getting out of her warm, quiet room and into the buzzing, chaotic world sounded about as appealing as going salwar shopping with Mamma. “Why? Where?”
Dimple took a hitching breath and answered. “Hello?” Ugh. Her voice sounded all watery even to her own ears.
“Dimple?” It was Papa, sounding concerned and fatherly and soft and all the things that made her want to cry even more. Her throat hurt with the effort of holding it in. “Kaisi ho, beti?”
“My idea didn’t win,” she sort of whispered, just wanting to get it out of the way. A tear dribbled down her cheek and she brushed it away with a fist.
“Oh, beta . . . these things happen, hmm?”
She shook her head, more tears falling, her face screwed up with the effort of trying not to cry. “I’m sorry, Papa,” she said finally, her voice breaking.
“Sorry? Kis liye? For what?”
“I let you down. I asked Mamma and you for the money, and then I totally just blew it. I don’t even know what I did wrong, so I can’t fix it. They didn’t give us any feedback, and this was all such a bad idea, all of it. . . .” Dimple dissolved into sobs, her glasses fogging over, snot leaking from her nose.
“Dimple,” Papa said, his voice quiet and firm. “This was not a bad idea. It was a great idea. You went there and you did what you are passionate about. Don’t be sorry. Be proud, like I am.”
Dimple sniffled. “You’re . . . proud? You don’t think this was all a colossal failure?”
“No, no, no. Absolutely not.” She heard the smile in Papa’s voice, and it made her smile too. “Ab tum ghar kab aa rahi ho?”
“I’ll drive home tomorrow morning. I told Mamma.” She frowned. “Where is she, by the way?” She would’ve expected Mamma to wrench the phone from Papa and deliver unneeded advice. She’d probably have told Dimple to pack it in and get married, to take this as a sign from the gods. The gods. She was starting to sound like Rishi. Dimple closed her eyes at the thought of him, at the thought of the decision she had to make that she didn’t want to.
“Oh, she went to Seema and Ritu’s house to watch Mahabharata. But actually I think she wanted to see Ritu’s new curtains. She was telling me Seema hates them, but Ritu forced her to buy them anyway.”
Dimple rolled her eyes and tried not to laugh. “Great. Well, I guess I’ll be hearing about all that soon enough.”
She hung up and sat in the silence again, the temporary lightness she’d felt from the conversation already receding. Papa could say he wasn’t disappointed. It didn’t matter. Dimple was disappointed with herself. And she was mad.
She set her phone down so she wouldn’t be tempted to fling it across the room. The shock of losing to those idiots had tempered her rage yesterday, but it was back now, full force. It was so unfair. Hari, Evan, and Isabelle had not deserved to win. Yesterday, Celia had told Dimple her theory: that the founders of Insomnia Con had been in Hari’s dad’s pocket from the beginning. Apparently Hari knew them all by their first names; they’d all been to his house for dinner just a few months before the contest began.
It made sense. Dimple remembered hearing Evan say at the talent show that Hari’s parents had donated the new computer science wing. They hadn’t gotten kicked out for fighting. And the most telling of all—they’d won Insomnia Con with their stupid frat boy drinking game idea. Dimple’s app would’ve changed lives. Well, their app might too, she thought wryly. Getting rushed to the hospital in the back of an ambulance for alcohol poisoning was life changing, right?
Her phone beeped with a text, and she peeked at the screen.
Pick you up for brunch in thirty minutes?
Rishi. Dimple hung her head, guilt and resentment jostling for space in her chest.
Something had changed. Ever since Celia had made that comment yesterday . . . but no, it had started before that. Things were fine when she and Rishi were just dating, when there were no boxes around their relationship. But the moment he’d asked for a commitment to try and make this work long-distance . . . something had shifted.
And now she’d lost Insomnia Con. There was no doubt about it—if they hadn’t been going out, she would’ve spent almost all of her free time working on her prototype. Tweaking it. Making it better. And maybe one of those tweaks would’ve sent her over the edge. Maybe she would’ve been so good that they couldn’t have ignored her, not even for Hari.
She picked up the phone and keyed in, No, have a headache. Napping instead.
! But Jenny Lindt will be in at noon. You could talk to her.
Jenny Lindt would be at the Spurlock building speaking with Hari et al. about their stupid winning idea. Dimple had no desire to meet her now, rank with defeat. Seeing the Aberzombies gloat would likely send her sailing off the edge, and she didn’t want murder on her conscience.
Nah, think I’ll skip. Talk to you later.
She hadn’t spoken to Rishi face-to-face since the results yesterday. He’d been good about giving her space, but she knew he was probably starting to wonder. Guilt clutched at her as she thought of his open, honest brown eyes. His sweet, goofy smile. His hands on her waist.
The truth was, maybe they’d come to the end of their path together. Maybe it was time to say good-bye.
Rishi watched Celia inhale another doughnut. Ashish reached across her and pulled a cruller onto his plate. How could they eat like that? Rishi’s own stomach felt like khishmish— a dry, desiccated, shriveled raisin.
They were at the cafeteria, as were pretty much all of the Insomnia Con participants, eating brunch before Hari, Evan, and Isabelle’s meeting with Jenny Lindt. Afterward, other people who wanted to speak with her could have a few minutes too. Rishi had been looking forward to it for Dimple, but now he wasn’t so sure. He patted a USB stick in his pocket, wondering if what he had planned was a good idea after all.
“Are you sure she’s just depressed about losing?” he asked for the eighteenth time.
Celia wiped pink icing off the corner of her mouth with a napkin, and Ashish’s eyebrows knit together sympathetically. This was something he could get used to—a brother who actually felt something for him other than dismissive exasperation. Celia put a hand on his. “I really think so,” she said. “She’s barely said a word to me, and I live with her. She’s taking it hard, but she’ll bounce back. You know how she is. This isn’t going to hold her back.”
From the far end of the cafeteria, they heard a whoop and then guffaws of laughter as Hari got on the cafeteria table, stripped off his shirt, and twirled it around. Evan clapped and cheered him on. Isabelle was nowhere to be seen.
“Idiots,” Celia muttered. “I can’t believe they won.”
“Me either.” Ashish reached out and squeezed her hand. After a moment, he turned to Rishi. “Bhaiyya, I feel like Dimple and I are pretty similar in some ways. So just give her some time. I think she probably needs to lick her wounds for a bit before she gets back up.”
Rishi nodded and took a sip of his tea. He could do that. And, in the meantime, he’d move forward with his plan.
CHAPTER 54
There was an almighty bang as the door opened. Dimple groaned under the covers. A moment later, she felt the bed shift as someone sat down.
“Dimple?” Celia’s voice behind her was soft but firm. “It’s time for you to get up now. We’re all worried.”
She opened her eyes a touch. It was gloomy in the room, either dusk or dawn. “What time is it?” she asked, her voice just a croak.
“Seven p.m. How long have you been napping? You missed lunch.”
Dimple turned over. Celia looked down at her, her hazel eyes worried. Her hair was held back by a cloth headband with sequins sewn in. “Couple of hours.”
Celia smoothed a curl off Dimple’s forehead, her face full of compassion. Dimple swallowed so she wouldn’t tear up. Taking a deep breath, Celia sat up straighter. “All right. It’s time to get up and get dressed. We’re going out.”
Dimple frowned. The thought of getting out of her warm, quiet room and into the buzzing, chaotic world sounded about as appealing as going salwar shopping with Mamma. “Why? Where?”
