“Yes, I’m sure.” I nodded matter-of-factly. I was going to tell Hisham how I felt. No games. No waiting. No outside interference. This time, I would take matters into my own hands. I would blindly leap and trust that love would take its course.

* * *

The next morning, Meena had her nikkah ceremony. The local imam came to the flat to see the bride at her home. In the presence of several witnesses, the imam read selected verses from the Qu’ran, asked Meena a list of questions about Haroon, and once she said “Qubool Hai” three times, she was officially married. She signed the marriage contracts, and the imam left to deliver those same contracts to Haroon, who was already waiting at the mosque.

With the nikkah completed, everyone breathed a great sigh of relief and focused their attention on the grand reception that was being held at an upscale hotel that evening. As I helped Meena slip into her traditional red lehenga choli and watched her mother adorn her with lavish jewels, I had to admit she was the most gorgeous bride I had ever seen.

“Meena, you’re beautiful,” I whispered as I straightened out her headpiece—a gold-and-pearl tikka with a red ruby drop that came down to the center of her forehead. “Just like a Bollywood heroine, masha’Allah.” I stepped back to admire her.

“Thank you, Leila.” She smiled back at me shyly with red-painted lips. “How are you feeling? About you know . . .”

“Good,” I said, thinking back to our conversation last night. The more I thought about it, the more sure I was about my feelings for Hisham. I was ready to tell him. Tonight at the reception.

“You’re still sure you don’t want to talk to—” She gestured with her head toward my mother, who was helping Jamila aunty fix a pin on her sari.

“I’m sure,” I said, giving her a reassuring smile. Although I wasn’t certain yet of what I would say to Hisham once I saw him, I figured I still had hours to figure it out. Right now, my focus was Meena.

“She needs more liner around the eyes,” Jamila aunty was telling the makeup artist, a middle-aged aunty with bright pink fingernails and a gap between her front teeth. “And make the shadow a little brighter. Her eyes should really come alive.”

As the aunty quickly grabbed her brushes and got to work, there was a knock at the door.

“Salaam, Shabana! Come in, come in!” Jamila aunty motioned her in. “Nida, this is Haroon and Hisham’s mother,” she said as the two of them embraced emotionally.

“Yes, we met yesterday,” my mother said, leaning in to give her a kiss on both cheeks. “How are you feeling, Shabana? Were you able to get some rest?”

“Oh, it is impossible to rest with all this excitement!” Shabana aunty touched my cheek affectionately. “Salaam, Leila beti. Hisham told me you were of great help yesterday. Thank you so much.” I smiled at her. Just the sound of Hisham’s name made my insides flutter.