“Come both of you into the kitchen with me,” Jamila aunty said suddenly. “Leila, have you eaten anything? Of course not,” she continued before I had a chance to reply. “You have just woken up! Hisham, tell me, what would you like me to prepare for nashta?”

“No, no, aunty, I must get back,” Hisham said. “There is still plenty to do for tonight.” Jamila aunty’s face dropped, but after a little back-and-forth, she finally gave in.

“Leila,” Hisham said, turning toward me. “It was a pleasure meeting you.” He nodded his head forward. “I will be sure to convey your . . . advice . . . to Haroon.” He smiled mischievously and gave a slight wave as he walked toward the door. I stood there feeling utterly mortified.

As soon as he had gone, Jamila aunty shifted her attention back to me. “Come, Leila, let us eat something,” she said, walking quickly. “Do you like halwa puri? It goes very well with chai.” She bobbled her head.

I stood there clutching the small box tightly in my hands. The velvet exterior was soft and smooth. I can’t believe Haroon has a brother. Not just any brother—but a twin brother . . . a ridiculously good-looking twin brother. I scratched my head, wondering how Meena had managed to forget to mention that tiny detail.

“Leila? Beti, are you coming?” Jamila aunty called from the hallway. I placed the box in my pocket and followed her into the kitchen.

* * *

“And then I said something like, ‘She needs someone to be next to her, not on top of her!’”

Meena threw her hands over her face and laughed loudly. As soon as she had gotten home, I’d pulled her into her bedroom so I could share with her my humiliating faux pas. For the past twenty minutes, I had relayed every embarrassing thing I had said to the man I’d assumed was Meena’s soon-to-be husband as she held her sides and wiped the tears from her eyes.

“And now, I’m going to see him again at your mehendi tonight and—” I pressed my face against a pillow and groaned. “Have I just made a total fool of myself?”

“Not at all.” Meena smiled reassuringly. “Hisham has a good sense of humor, from what I’ve heard from Haroon. He probably got a big laugh from it.”

“I’m sure he did,” I said, shaking my head.

“So, you really told him you thought he was good-looking?”

“Charmingly good-looking, I think was my exact phrase,” I corrected her as we both broke into giggles.

“You know,” she said, suddenly composing herself. “I could ask Ammi to talk to your ammi about Hish—”

“Absolutely not,” I interrupted her, waving my hand. I could only imagine the level of humiliation I’d have to endure if my mother took up her matchmaking nonsense in the land of arranged marriages. “I made the mistake of falling for a charmingly good-looking guy once. Let me tell you, it did not end well.”