Mr. Catfish

It had been almost two weeks since Mahmoud first reached out to me, and the past twelve days had been an endless stream of emails and texts between the two of us.

Each morning, I awakened to a Good morning, beautiful text on my phone, and each night a Sweet dreams, Leila. Can’t wait to talk to you tomorrow message arrived before I went to bed. Throughout the day, Mahmoud and I would talk about anything and everything—from the crusty tofu they sold at the salad bar in his office cafeteria, to the latest Atif Aslam song, to the annoying kid in my sixth-period class who decided to abbreviate the term assonance on his poetry quiz. The more we talked, the more often I thought about him as the days passed. He was funny and witty, and I loved how easily the words flowed between the two of us.

Even my mother noticed the significant improvement in my mood.

“How is the search going?” she asked me at breakfast one morning.

“Fine,” I mumbled, grinning at the video of a grumpy cat that Mahmoud had just texted.

“Anyone in particular who you are talking with?” She glanced at my phone.

“Hm?” I looked up. “Oh, um, no. Just a friend,” I stammered, taking a bite of my toast. Mahmoud was actually someone I was excited about, and I didn’t need my mother ruining it by intervening. I stuffed the last of my breakfast into my mouth and got up to place the dishes in the sink. “I’m going to shower and get ready for work,” I said quickly before my mother could ask me any more questions.

Ten minutes later, I walked back into the kitchen to see my mother talking to someone on my cell phone, which I had accidentally left behind.

“Yes, and what do your parents do? I see. I see. Please give me their number so I can give them a call.” She scribbled the digits onto a Post-it note. I stood there watching her, horrified.

“Ammi, give me my phone,” I hissed, trying to snatch it from her hand. She pulled away and lifted up her index finger.

“Yes, yes. Okay, then. It was very nice talking to you. And don’t forget to email me your bio-data. Okay, I will be waiting.” She pressed the red button and handed the phone to me.

“What are you doing?” I said in between clenched teeth.

“Your friend Mahmoud called while you were in the shower,” she said casually. “Leila, it would be rude not to answer.”

“Ammi!”

“Leila, I just had a very brief chat with him. All I wanted was to ask a couple questions—”

“You should’ve asked me first!” I broke in.

My mother looked at me with surprise. “Asked you first? Why? Are you not my daughter? Have I no right to know who you are talking to?”

“You promised if I went to the matchmaker, you would not interfere anymore—”

“Beti, I’m not interfering. But I need to know that the person you are talking to is the right person.”