I groaned and clumsily staggered into the dressing room, dropping the pile of outfits onto the small leather ottoman. Outside, I could hear my mother ask the saleswoman if she was married, and the disappointed “I see” that followed when the woman replied in the affirmative. Great, I thought miserably. One more person to whom my mother can compare me.

For the next forty-five minutes, I squeezed and sucked my body into every single dress from my mother’s selected pile as she waited eagerly by the dressing room door to shower me with a slew of criticisms about why none of them were right.

“No, no, no. This one looked much better on the hanger.”

“Leila, can you try making your hips smaller?”

“It’s a pretty dress, but just not on you.”

“Does this come in a color that doesn’t make you look so dark?”

“Why are your shoulders so broad? You must get that from your father.”

At one point, she turned to the saleswoman and asked her if she had any dresses to make my breasts look more “shapely.” As the two of them wandered back into the store to find another round of options for me, I pulled out the final dress tucked beneath the others—it was one of my picks: a beautiful white sari with dazzling crystal accents along the border, an elegant high-necked blouse, and a teardrop back covered in sheer netting. I carefully draped the silky fabric across my body and stepped out to the dressing area to get a better look at myself in the floor-length mirrors. My heart skipped a beat as I glanced at my reflection.

“Hey, salaams,” said a familiar voice behind me. My heart jumped again and I quickly turned around to see Hisham carrying a stack of dresses so high that only the top of his forehead was visible. “Your mom wanted me to drop these off to you,” he said, his voice muffled behind the fabrics.

I quickly grabbed the dresses from his hands and dropped them on the bench outside my dressing room door. “Wh—what are you doing here?” I asked, blushing nervously as I redraped the pallu to make sure everything was properly cinched and concealed. The butterflies in my stomach fluttered as flashbacks from last night flooded my mind. This is so unexpected. I didn’t think I would see him again until Meena’s reception.

“I came here with my—” Hisham paused midsentence. “Wow,” he exhaled, his expression quickly shifting. I looked down, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.

My face flushed as I spun back toward the mirror. “I’m not sure if the fit is right . . . Do you think it might be too much?” I tilted my head, trying to look at it from all angles. As much as I loved the sari, I knew my mother would find a million things wrong with it, which was causing me to question my judgment.

“No, not at all,” he stammered. “It looks beautiful,” he added, looking at me through the mirror. Our eyes locked briefly in the reflection and he smiled shyly.