“Right person for who?” I cried, feeling frustrated. “You’re not giving me a chance to do this on my own!”

“I am, beti, I just—”

“Just trust me, okay? Give me a chance to figure this out.” I sighed, walking away. This was exactly what I was afraid of. I wanted to make sure Mahmoud was the right person for me before involving my parents. After what happened with Anwar, it was far too complicated to balance everyone’s emotions.

SO sorry about that, I texted Mahmoud once I was alone.

No worries. Your mom seems . . . nice, he replied with a tongue sticking out.

I sent him an angry emoji face.

LOL.

I drew in a deep breath.

So, we’ve been talking for a while now. Maybe we should meet up soon? I typed. I held my breath, hoping he’d still want to meet after that conversation with my mother.

How’s tomorrow night? he replied immediately.

Tomorrow night sounds perfect. I smiled. I was finally going to meet my cyberprince, and I could not have been more ready.

* * *

Friday evening, I arrived at Un Beso—a romantic Italian restaurant with twinkling lights and red-checked tablecloths. Although I had taken some extra time to curl my hair into long, loose waves and put on some red lipstick, I still managed to show up slightly earlier than planned. This is finally going to happen, I kept thinking as I nervously adjusted my red midi dress and crossed and uncrossed my legs for the fifteenth time.

Although I had never experienced love at first sight, all the Shah Rukh Khan and Kajol films I devoured over the years taught me it existed. This could be that defining moment for me. Like when Anjali saw Rahul for the first time after eight years apart in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. Or when Simran finally fell into Raj’s arms as he pulled her onto a moving train in Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge. The thought of Mahmoud possibly being the King Khan of my real-life romance made me both exhilarated and nauseous at the same time. Lost in these thoughts, I didn’t even notice Mahmoud enter the restaurant until after the hostess brought him to where I was seated.

“Here is your table, sir.”

I looked up from my phone and all my hopes instantly plummeted.

“Hi, you must be Leila,” he said as he sat down across from me. “Sorry, I’m a little late. I had to stop and get gas.”

As I stared at him from the other side of the dimly lit table, I kept wondering if he had traveled here by time machine. It was the same face, but he somehow looked . . . different. He seemed older, more mature in person. He also seemed shorter . . . and chubbier. Stop imagining things, I told myself as I forced a smile and tried not to gawk at the sprinkle of gray peppered along his receding hairline.

“Wow, you’re exactly how I imagined,” Mahmoud said, returning the smile and taking off his blazer, which he hung neatly over the back of his chair.