“What if you just gave me a little bit of time to find someone on my own? And in return”—I rushed through without giving them a chance to interrupt—“I give you my word that I will find someone who you both approve of. I mean, based on all the promising prospects you’ve already found, how hard can it be, right?” I said, flashing them my most convincing smile.

“It is very hard, Leila! Don’t you understand, beti, you are already twenty-six!” my mother cried, hysterical once more. I rolled my eyes at the emphasis placed on the twenty and the six. Any time age was referred to in an Indian household, it was a reminder that the marriage clock was ticking. The fact that my age had already been announced twice in a span of five minutes suggested that mine was not only ticking but was on the verge of falling off the wall. While twenty-six was still considered young in American years, in South Asian years, I was almost past my expiration date. Fortunately for me, my mother never hesitated to point this out.

“I’ve only been twenty-six for a couple months, Ammi. It’s not that big a—”

“But tomorrow, you will be thirty!”

“That’s not how aging works, Ammi.”

“And what will we do when that day comes? Who’s going to marry you after thirty? Have you thought about that? Ya Allah!” my mother wailed as she placed her palm over her forehead for extra effect. “We have waited too long!” She turned to my father despairingly. “We are going to be old and without grandchildren! Our noses will be cut!”

“Arey, arey,” my father interjected, reaching across the table and taking my mother’s hand. “Leila, your ammi is right. Your time is short. If we don’t act quickly, this will not end well.” My mother let out another wail.

I tried to appear sympathetic, but I couldn’t understand why they were being so dramatic. I had just turned twenty-six. And mentally, I felt even younger. I didn’t own a home yet. I had just started my career. Aside from Cancún, I had never traveled outside the country, and my mother still did my laundry—I was barely an adult! I still had my whole life ahead of me, yet my parents were acting as if I had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and given only a few weeks to live. Sure, I was slightly older than more traditional Indian girls in starting the process of finding a husband, but I still had plenty of time. Most Americans in their mid-twenties were still in the “discovery” phase. They were traveling, partying, enjoying the single life. None of my other non-Muslim friends were panicking about dying alone yet. What my parents’ generation didn’t understand was that it was much more common for people to marry later in life these days. Besides, everyone knew that South Asians didn’t raisin, so they had nothing to worry about.

“Listen, Leila,” my father continued. “I know you think you can do this alone, but please, beti. There is too much at stake. Allow us to help you,” he said in a hopeful tone.