“Leila, look who I ran into!” My mother’s voice pierced through the dressing room as she walked in with the saleswoman and a fashionably dressed aunty carrying large shopping bags in each hand. “This is Shabana aunty—Haroon and Hisham’s mother!” she exclaimed.

“As’salaamu Alaikum, beti.” Shabana aunty leaned in and kissed me on both cheeks. “I was just here picking up some items, and what a pleasant surprise to find you both here! Your mother tells me you are shopping for a dress for the reception?” I nodded, glancing quickly toward Hisham, who was now leaning against the wall, his face lowered while he looked into his phone screen.

“What a beautiful sari! Wah!” Shabana aunty turned toward my mother. “What I would give to be young and thin again!” she remarked wistfully, while my mother smiled in agreement.

“Yes, yes,” my mother concurred. “Leila can pull off almost any dress with that tiny figure of hers!”

“Masha’Allah!”

I bit my tongue and tried not to roll my eyes. Tiny figure? That wasn’t the tune she had been singing for the past forty-five minutes.

“So, have we selected a dress then?” The saleswoman motioned toward me as I glanced in the mirror one last time. I carefully watched my mother’s expression, waiting for her reply.

“I think it’s just lovely on you, Leila!” Shabana aunty bobbled her head. “Nida, what do you think?” My mother looked from her to me, with a thin, forced smile plastered across her face. I could tell it was killing her to not be able to say what she really thought.

“I think if Leila likes it, she should get it,” my mother finally said through clenched teeth.

“I like it,” I stated without hesitation.

Hisham looked up from his phone and gave me a lopsided smirk.

“Okay,” my mother said, still smiling awkwardly. She turned toward the saleswoman. “We will select this one.”

“Very well, madam.”

“But first we must agree on a reasonable price,” my mother said, leading the saleswoman toward the registers. “I could buy the whole store for what is written on the tag . . .”

“I’m going to change.” I grinned at Hisham as he and his mother exited the dressing area.

When I finally rejoined them, my mother had already completed the negotiations and was sliding her credit card into the machine. By the look on her face, I could tell she was pleased with the outcome—which was great since I knew she wasn’t so thrilled about the outfit. I handed the sari to the saleswoman, and while we waited for her to wrap it up, my mother and Shabana aunty began talking about the wedding.

“These preparations are so tiring, Nida! The reception is tomorrow and there are still so many things left to do!”

“I can only imagine!” My mother shook her head sympathetically. “It’s good you have Hisham here to help you.”

“Yes, he has been so very helpful,” Shabana aunty said, shoving all her shopping bags into his arms. “I don’t know what I would do without him!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “You know how it is here, Nida. Everything has to be just so.”