Rishi huffed a laugh, incredulous. He was beginning to doubt Stanford’s reputation. “Do you honestly not see the logical fallacy there? You’re checking to see if this person’s online persona is fake . . . online.”
“Well . . . ,” Dimple said as they rounded the corner and came to a stop in front of the Little Gator Pizzeria. The smell of grease and cheese clotted the air. Her eyes widening behind her glasses, she leaned in closer. “Either we’re about to get hacked to pieces by a serial killer or we’re about to enjoy some pizza. Only time will tell.”
Rishi reached out to get the door for her, but with a flourish, she opened the door herself and walked in.
A girl in the corner with a trendy, caramel-colored, two-foot-tall mass of curls and huge hazel eyes grinned and stood, grabbing Dimple in a hug she clearly hadn’t been expecting. She wore giant heels that made her tower over Dimple, but without them, Rishi guessed they’d be about the same height. “Dimple! You made it!”
Dimple pulled back and grinned. “How did you know it was me?”
“Facebook, of course,” the girl said, laughing.
Dimple tossed a triumphant look Rishi’s way. He sighed and made his way over.
“Oh, hello.” The girl smiled a little suggestively. “Who’s this? You didn’t tell me you were bringing a friend.” Somehow, she made the word “friend” sound naughty.
Dimple sat, and, after a moment, scooched over so Rishi could sit next to her in the booth. He tried to ignore the way his pulse stuttered a bit at that. “That’s because I didn’t know,” she said. “Celia Ramirez, this is Rishi Patel. Rishi, this is Celia.”
“Enchanté,” Celia said, taking his hand. “I ordered a large pepperoni pizza; hope that’s okay with the two of you.”
“Totally,” Dimple said, just as Rishi said, “I don’t eat meat.”
They looked at each other. “I’ll go order a cheese,” he said after a beat, sliding back out of the booth. Add another item to the “1,001 ways we’re incompatible” list, Rishi thought. As he ordered at the counter, he watched Dimple, totally relaxed in a way she hadn’t been with him, talking to Celia. And not for the first time in the past hour, Rishi wondered how his parents could’ve made such a big mistake.
“Seriously?” Celia said, ogling Rishi openmouthed.
“Stop staring at him,” Dimple hissed. “And yes, seriously. My parents are so deranged it’s not even funny.”
“And he brought his great-grandmother’s ring. To your first meeting.” Celia, clearly not well versed in the way of certain Indian families, could not seem to wrap her head around this fact.
Dimple sighed. “I really just feel kind of bad for him. I mean, it’s got to be embarrassing. But he’s taking it like a champ. He’s a lot calmer than I am. I cannot wait to rip my parents a new one.” She shredded her straw wrapper with gusto. “They can’t hide from me forever.”
“It’s sort of romantic,” Celia said, smiling a little, turning back to Dimple. “Don’t you think?”
“Romantic!” Dimple sputtered on her sip of water. Setting her glass back down, she said, “Please. I’m freaking eighteen years old. Marriage is the last thing on my mind.”
“Well, I’m seventeen, so right back at you,” Celia said. “But still. I mean, just the fact that, you know. He could potentially be the one. There’s a kind of magic in that.”
Dimple tossed a glance over at Rishi. He was walking over to the soda fountain. Every movement of his was sure, calm, confident. “I don’t know,” she said, finally, just as the waiter brought their pizzas over. “I guess I just don’t see it.”
When Rishi sat down, there was a weird sort of hesitant, crackling silence in the air. He sighed and looked at Celia. “She told you, didn’t she? About the arranged marriage thing?”
Dimple stiffened beside him, and Celia nodded. “She did.”
“And you think it’s crazy,” he said.
“Uh-huh.” Celia chewed the giant piece of pizza she’d bitten off before speaking. “I also think it’s romantic.” She grinned. “A predestined romance.”
Rishi smiled. Maybe this girl wasn’t a serial killer after all. “Sort of. But arranged marriages are more about practicalities than romance. Compatibility, a long-term partnership. That sort of thing.”
Beside him Dimple snorted. He turned to her. “I’m guessing you don’t agree.”
“Compatibility may be what it’s ostensibly about,” Dimple responded, pushing her glasses up on her nose. “But it’s really just a way for our parents to control us. I mean, that’s even how the institution of marriage was born. So fathers could form alliances and use their children—especially their daughters—as pawns in their battle for power.” She ripped off a piece of pizza and chewed angrily.
Jeez, did she ever relax? “Well, since our parents aren’t rajas and ranis, I don’t think that’s what it’s about.”
Celia laughed. “?‘Raja’—that’s king, right?”
“Right.” Rishi smiled. “And ‘rani’ is queen.”
“So you’re bilingual?” Celia asked.
Rishi nodded. “Yeah, I learned Hindi first, before English. My parents were really adamant about that. They’re technically from Gujarat, but they’re third generation Mumbaiites, so they speak Hindi. Mumbai is, like, this huge melting pot of people from other Indian states, so apparently everyone speaks this special version of what my parents call ‘Bombay Hindi.’?” His eyes were far off and he had this small smile on his lips. It was obvious he loved talking about this stuff.
“That’s so cool,” Celia said. “I wish I knew more than, like, five words of Spanish. Have you ever been to Mumbai?”
“Are you really interested in web development, or are you just here for this?” Dimple interjected, gesturing between herself and him. If Rishi didn’t know better, he’d say she was irritated at how he and Celia were hitting it off. Jealousy? he wondered hopefully. But he had to be practical—she likely had just wanted to have an impassioned discussion about the evils of arranged marriages and controlling parents and was disappointed it wasn’t coming to fruition.
Rishi shrugged and ate another bite of pizza. “Both. I mean, I’m starting at MIT in the fall for computer science and engineering, so this is a good thing to have on my CV.”
“But web development isn’t your passion.” Dimple’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not your dream.”
“No,” Rishi said slowly. “I guess not.”
“You spent a thousand dollars on something that you’re not passionate about?” She stared at him, seemingly dumbfounded.
“So he wants to expand his horizons; don’t be so judgy,” Celia said.
“Whatever. You just better not be my partner,” Dimple muttered, turning back to her pizza.