When Dimple Met Rishi

Dimple couldn’t stop smiling. It was like two invisible puppeteers, standing stage left and stage right, were yanking on strings to lift up the corners of her mouth.

Okay, or maybe something less creepy. The point was, the urge to grin felt irresistible.

Dimple clicked on the e-mail again and read it. Stanford . She was going to Stanford. Even though the acceptance letter had come in the mail weeks ago, she hadn’t allowed herself to really, fully believe it until her student log-in details had come via e-mail. She’d thought that, at the last minute, Papa would have second thoughts and renege on the deposit. Or that Mamma would call and tell them Dimple had changed her mind (and if you didn’t think Mamma would do something like that, you’d never met her).