When Dimple Met Rishi(62)

Dimple hit the play button with a shaking finger, and the song flooded the room. Rishi paused, his eyes closed, apparently trying to let the beat move him or something.

Then he jerked, his hands and legs spasming as he tried to copy Hrithik Roshan. He kept going, occasionally glancing at the screen to make sure he had it down. He was grinning now, enjoying himself as he jumped up and landed with his feet wide, then shimmied across the room, nodding his head with a heck yeah expression on his face.

Dimple was sure she was in a dream. That could be the only explanation. She saw her hand float out in front of her and hit the space bar on his laptop, pausing the video.

Rishi stopped thrashing abruptly. “What’s wrong?”

Dimple gripped the edge of his desk. The corners of the room swam. Her voice came from a million galaxies away. “That’s . . . that’s how you dance?”

Rishi looked down at his body, as if to check something. “Yeah?” He looked back at her, confused.

Dimple clutched her head. “But you said—you said you were a good dancer!”

“I did not! I barely agreed that I was ‘decent’!”

Dimple glared at him, her temper flaring. She spoke slowly, enunciating the words. “That. Was not. Anywhere near decent.”

They stared at each other for a minute, Rishi’s deep honey eyes boring into hers. And then he burst out laughing. Geysers of “ha ha ha” burst out of him, and watching him guffaw like that, helpless, actually slapping his knee, Dimple began to laugh too, just slightly hysterically.

Finally, Rishi sank down on the floor, holding his stomach, alternating groans with laughter. Dimple sat beside him and wiped her eyes, her laughter subsiding to a few hiccups. “Okay, seriously, what are we going to do?”

Rishi looked at her from where he was sprawled on the floor, his arms and legs askew. “Well, do you still want to win the talent show?”

She nodded. “Obviously.”

“Then we keep practicing. We have six and a half days to get this down.” Rishi hopped up, lithe as a lion. Why couldn’t he use that grace in his dancing? He held out a hand to Dimple and pulled her up. Bending down so they were nose to nose, he said, “Show me what you got, Priyanka.”

? ? ?

Priyanka Chopra—Hrithik Roshan’s partner in “Dil Na Diya”—was equally as good as him. Thankfully, since her part was so minuscule in that song, Dimple didn’t have the intense pressure that Rishi had on him. They practiced the part where both Hrithik and Priyanka danced together. Dimple moved her arms around and hoped to God she didn’t look like she was convulsing. Like Rishi looked right then.

Panting, Rishi grabbed her arm so she’d stop. “Hey, what about at this part if you, like, hopped up in my arms?”

“What?” Dimple wiped her forehead and went over to pause the laptop. In the silence she said, “Rishi, I don’t think hopping into your arms is going to improve this routine. Let’s just stick with what the Bollywood choreographers, in all their wisdom and experience, deemed good enough for Hrithik and Priyanka.”

“No, wait, just hear me out. Here, rewind it a bit? Like, to the part where he points at her?” Dimple did what he asked in spite of her intense misgivings. “Okay, now hit play and come back here.”

She did.

“Now, when I point to you, instead of beginning your dance move, what about if you just jump up on me and I’ll catch you?”

“Are you serious? I’m not going to just jump—”

“I won’t let you fall, I promise. Oh, look, it’s coming up, come on!” Rishi held his arms open, and Dimple, giving in to peer pressure in spite of every instinct screaming at her not to, leaped into his arms.

Or rather, she tried to, but her jeans wouldn’t allow her the flexibility she needed. So, instead, she kneed Rishi in the ribs, hard.

He yelled out “Ow!” and instead of catching Dimple, used his arms to fend her off with a deftly executed karate chop. Suddenly realizing what he was doing, Rishi scrambled to help her, apparently consumed by a vortex of regret. But Dimple, feeling spiteful, grabbed him around the neck on the way down to take him with her.

They lay in a silent, shocked heap on the floor, arms and legs so tangled Dimple had no idea whose limbs were whose.

She was in too much pain to say anything for a full ten seconds, so she just lay there staring at the ceiling as the merry tunes of “Dil Na Diya” blared into the room. And then Rishi began to laugh again. Dimple wasn’t sure she cared anymore for his penchant for finding humor in every situation.

He turned his head, groaning, and said, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Dimple managed, pushing his thigh off her stomach so she could breathe better. “Ouch.”

Rishi tried pulling his arm out from under her, but since she was still partially pinned under him, she just rolled toward him. He was looking down at her, their noses almost touching, both her legs under his left one. “Hi,” he said, his eyes warm and liquid. “I’m sorry.”

She wanted to punch him in the ribs. She wanted to bite his nose. But looking into those eyes, Dimple realized she wanted something else even more. So she lifted her head and kissed him.

And that’s when a male voice said, loudly, “Well, well, WELL. What have we here?”