I wasn’t really sure what I thought. I knew I liked him. And up until a few minutes ago, I thought he liked me back. I just never saw this coming. I focused my breathing, trying to ignore the lump in my throat.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Thunder clapped in the distance. He’s engaged. Engaged! Those words kept reverberating in my ears. Suddenly, I felt a drop of water plop down on my forehead. And then another. Plop. Plop. I looked up. The dark, ominous clouds stared back at me—chastising me for being so foolish. I shut my eyes again, breathing in the wet air. Even as the clouds split and neat, parallel sheets of rain threatened to drench me through the open window—I remained frozen, unable to move until the sounds of my heart eventually steadied.

* * *

The ballroom of the Trident Hotel was filled with guests. Beautiful ivory silks hung in loose, graceful folds, and the tables were adorned with elaborate centerpieces—gold vases filled with decadent white roses and jasmine blooming over the edges. There was a dance floor in the center of the room where guests were already celebrating under the warm amber lighting emanating from the ceiling.

I smoothed out the drapes of my sari and readjusted the pallu. My mother had initially been so resistant about my selecting this ensemble, but given that she had spent the majority of the evening bombarded with inquiries and proposals about her “highly desirable daughter,” I figured she may have had a change of heart. As I watched her converse with a line of aunties who kept glancing in my direction, I couldn’t help but think of the fresh stack of bio-datas that would soon be coming my way.

The mood of the room quickly shifted with the arrival of the bridal party. Haroon sat nervously on a stage, waiting to catch sight of his blushing bride. He was wearing a black-and-gold sherwani with a red turban on top of his head. As the clock struck seven, the double doors finally swung open and Meena entered atop a beautiful golden palanquin. She looked like Bollywood royalty perched on the shoulders of relatives and friends in her traditional red garb.

The moment her litter lowered to the rose-petaled ground, Haroon rushed toward it, extending his hand to help his new bride onto the stage. While the guests collectively whispered “Masha’Allah” under their breath, I stood off in the corner, watching the newlyweds as they merged into a couple right before our eyes.

Everyone around me seemed to be having a wonderful time, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do the same—not after the bombshell that had been dropped earlier. Every time I turned around, there was Hisham—running his fingers through his hair or smiling with that lopsided grin of his. As much as I wanted to remain cool and collected, inside I was a total mess. A part of me wanted to talk to him and get some answers, but I didn’t trust myself to do so without breaking into tears.