“I have to. I’ve agreed to let my parents choose someone for me.”

“You’re not serious, are you?”

“It was part of the deal.”

“Leila, I’ve always tried to make sense of some of your choices, but you’ve really topped yourself with this one.”

“There’s nothing I can do, Annie.”

“You can stop living the life you think you should, Leila, and start living the life you want.”

“What if this is what I want?” I asked.

Annie remained silent. I could imagine her absorbing my words on the other side. She finally let out a small breath and sighed.

“If it really is, Leila, then maybe I’m not the one you should be convincing.”

Deadline

Saturday morning—the day of my parents’ anniversary party—I woke up earlier than usual. In less than eight hours, my three-month deadline would be coming to an end, and I would have to inform my parents that my plans to find a “suitable boy” had backfired. In less than eight hours, the fate of my future would lie entirely in their hands, and they would have free rein to arrange my marriage with whomever they pleased. I should’ve been panicking, but instead I felt strangely calm. There was comfort in knowing there was nothing left to do. I walked into the kitchen and was greeted by both of my parents eating breakfast at the table.

“Good morning, Leila!” My mother smiled, pulling out a chair for me. “Come, eat some warm chapatis. I made fresh ghee to go along with them.”

“Happy anniversary,” I said as I kissed her and my father on the cheek.

“Happy anniversary, beti,” my father said as he sipped his chai and glanced back at the morning paper.

“It’s not my anniversary, Abba,” I said, sitting down. “Have you wished each other?”

“Oh, Leila. We don’t do this wishing smishing stuff.” My mother waved her arms, blushing. “Besides, that is what tonight is for.” She looked over at my father and smiled. “Thirty years. Can you believe it?”

My father shook his head. “How you lasted with me so long, I have no idea,” he said, laughing.

“You know, Leila,” my mother began. “Twenty-nine years ago, and I can still remember my and your father’s very first anniversary. Do you remember it?” she asked nostalgically.

“Of course I remember, jaan,” my father said, putting down the paper. “We were living in that tiny apartment next to the university.”

“Right, the one with the broken faucets in the bathroom. We could never figure out which was hot or cold! Everything was freezing!”

I smiled as I listened to them recall this story that I had heard countless times over the years.

“Your father was studying late that night, so I wanted to surprise him with something special when he returned.”

“Your ammi learned early on that I had a weakness for sweets, so that year, she wanted to show me how American she was by making me an American dessert. Cupcakes.” He smiled at the memory.