As I made my way around the hall, I took my time greeting all the aunties and uncles who had known my parents over the years. Some of them I had seen frequently at our home or various events; others I hadn’t seen in years. I smiled and nodded as they inquired about my job, my trip to India, and of course my marital status. I had grown so accustomed to these rounds of questioning that they didn’t even faze me anymore. From the corner of my eye, I noticed my girlfriends hanging out near the buffet table. I politely excused myself and headed in their direction.

“Leila! You look beautiful!” Hannah, Liv, and Tania showered me with compliments as I gave them each a hug.

I was wearing a dress that Meena had gifted me the night before her reception: a powder-blue lehenga choli with ivory and gold embellishments. My hair was curled into long, loose waves, and I had placed a delicate gold tikka across the center part.

“Have you talked to your parents?” Tania asked.

“Not yet.” I bit my lip.

Between the flower snafu, Zain’s unforeseen return, and my earlier talk with Tania, I hadn’t found time to inform my parents about the outcome of their deadline. After ruminating on everything I had endured over these past three months—the frustration, the hopelessness, the love, the heartbreak—there was only one choice that felt right in my heart; however, I had no way of predicting what their reactions would be when I finally told them. All I knew was that when I had crossed off the last X on my calendar that afternoon, I’d felt a sense of relief rather than dread, along with an overwhelming confidence about my final decision.

“Salaam, beti! How are you doing?”

I turned around to see Yasmeen aunty holding a small plate of appetizers in her right hand. She leaned in and gave me a warm kiss on both cheeks. “What a lovely party you have thrown together for your parents, Leila! May Allah bless us all with such kind and loving children, Masha’Allah.” She squeezed my hand.

“How have you been, aunty?” I asked, shifting uncomfortably.

“Very good, beti.”

“And how is Zain?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. Although my mind had already been made up, the possibility of seeing Zain at my parents’ party, especially after the email I had sent refusing his offer to “see where things could go,” was slightly nerve-racking. I held my breath as I waited for her response.

“Alhamdulillah! He’s been so busy getting everything prepared for his L.A. office opening. But he will be back for another visit in just a few weeks!”

I exhaled a sigh of relief.

“I must let your mother know when Zain comes, so the four of us can get together once again, insha’Allah.”

I nodded and forced a small smile. Although I felt somewhat guilty about giving her false hope, I reminded myself that I was doing the right thing. I politely excused myself just as the buffet lines cleared and made my way toward my parents’ table near the center of the stage.