When Dimple Met Rishi (Dimple and Rishi, #1)

by Sandhya Menon

“Hello, future wife,” he said, his voice bubbling with glee. “I can’t wait to get started on the rest of our lives!”

Rishi smiled again, but fully this time, unrestrained. It was like watching the sun rise, Dimple thought, or the streetlights come on at dusk. Gradual, powerful, brilliant, in a way.

“I guess I never really got why the kids in my private school thought they were such hot stuff. I mean, it’s our parents who did all the hard work. We were just born into it. It’s like being proud that you’re tall or have thick hair or perfectly spaced eyes. Absurd.”

age. I feel like I need to speak out, because if no one speaks out, if no one says, This is me, this is what I believe in, and this is why I’m different, and this is why that’s okay, then what’s the point? What’s the point of living in this beautiful, great melting pot where everyone can dare to be anything they want to be?”

Without distance, Rishi knew the inexorable love for his art, for creation, would suck him in and never let go.

She’d seen what his soul was made of. And she’d liked it.

I was carrying this huge weight on my shoulders without even realizing it—without even needing to. You’ve made me braver. It’s like you have this paintbrush, dipped in brilliant mauves and teals and golds, and you just totally redid my monochromatic life. I need you; I need your paintbrush.”