“You don’t think I understand compromise?” I scoffed. “Trust me, we all make compromises. But that doesn’t mean we don’t have a choice.”

“A choice? Leila, look around you,” Hisham exclaimed. “Do you think Meena and Haroon had a choice? Do you think our parents had a choice? As much as you’d like to think you have control over your life, you don’t.”

I stared at him, hot tears pressing against my eyes.

“When it’s all said and done, we will eventually end up with who our parents choose for us. That’s our only choice.”

I wiped my face and looked away.

“Leila,” Hisham said gently. “I’m sorry. I just—”

“It’s fine.” I shook my head, taking a step back. “Congratulations on your engagement—”

“Leila.” He reached out to touch my elbow, but I quickly slipped away.

“Goodbye, Hisham,” I said, just as the tears began flowing down my cheeks.

“Leila . . .” he pleaded as I hurried across the garden, refusing to let him see me cry. My name was the final word I heard as I ran back inside, leaving my shattered heart on the other side of the glass doors that shut behind me.

* * *

“How could you turn down such a good boy?” my mother cried as we waited to board our plane. “Ya Allah! Sometimes I really don’t understand you, Leila.” She shook her head.

I stared at my boarding pass and remained silent. Meena’s reception had ended with a teary rukhsati ceremony, and then she and Haroon had left immediately for their honeymoon. Her final words to me before she left were “I’m so sorry, Leila.”

The next evening—on our final night in India—my mother and Jamila aunty invited Asad and his family for dinner without so much as asking my opinion. As irritated as I was, I found a quiet moment to finally tell Asad that I had thought things over and felt it was best that we didn’t move forward with an engagement. Although I could sense his disappointment, he took the news better than I had expected.

My mother, on the other hand, did not.

“You keep saying you are finding someone on your own, Leila, but I don’t see you putting in any effort,” she said as people began lining up.

“We are now boarding rows one through fifteen. Also any families traveling with small children and any disabled or elderly passengers needing a little extra time on the Jetway . . .”

“In case you forgot, Ammi, Asad was not someone I chose on my own.”

“Okay, so I helped a little. Is that so terrible? And what have you done? It has been almost three months, Leila, and you haven’t brought home a single person. Your father and I have agreed to give you time, but all you keep saying is ‘This one is too old. This one is too this. This one is too that.’”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Ammi, but I’m trying,” I mumbled.