“Not everyone is like Abba, though,” I said, still cringing over the fact that Mahmoud was okay with me “treating him” on the first date.

“Yes, beti, but remember, you are not getting any younger either, so it is important to keep an open mind. You never know how life will surprise you.” She patted my hand. “Speaking of surprises, you won’t believe who called me this morning,” she said, placing the dough into the skillet.

“Amitabh Bachchan?”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “No, Leila, it was Seema aunty. Remember, the matchmaker?”

I groaned, stuffing another bite of warm, yogurt-covered pancake into my mouth. How could I forget Seema aunty? She was the worst professional matchmaker in the history of matchmaking. “Did she call to remind you that I was still not marriage material?”

“Of course you are marriage material!” My mother placed one more steaming pancake onto my plate and wiped her hands on her apron. “Why do you say this?”

“It’s okay, Ammi. Maybe she was right. Maybe marriage isn’t for everyone—”

“Bas!” She held up her hand. “Don’t say these things, Leila. I don’t want to hear it.”

I sighed and looked down at my plate. I had felt so confident on the drive back from Seema aunty’s office a few weeks ago. I felt so sure that I was going to find someone and prove to be matchable, but after last night’s date with Mahmoud, I wondered how many more Uday Chopras I would have to date in order to find a Hrithik Roshan.

“Listen, Leila. Maybe for whatever reason you say, Mahmoud didn’t turn out to be right. But you must keep trying,” my mother said as she rolled another pancake with her pin.

“What difference does it make?” I propped my face against my forearm. I had tried plenty over these past few weeks. And I had yet to find the perfect guy.

“The difference is, this time Seema aunty called because she thinks she might have found a match for you.” She looked at me excitedly.

“No, thank you.” I let out a scoff. “I’m not interested,” I said, waving my hand.

“Don’t you at least want to know about him, Leila?”

“Not really. And why are you even interested? I thought you hated Seema the matchmaker.”

“Seema aunty,” my mother corrected me. “And I never said I hated her.” I looked at her, lifting my eyebrows. “Okay, Leila, it doesn’t matter now. She has come through for us.” She smiled once more and lifted my chin off my arm. “She found you an engineer.”

“And?”

She looked at me with a confused look on her face. “And, she thinks you two might have a lot in common.”

“Why, was he also placed in her file of rejects?”

“Stop it, Leila.” My mother leaned over the counter and gently swatted me on the arm. “Here.” She stuck her hands into her apron pocket, feeling around for something until she finally pulled out a yellow Post-it. “His name is Sajid, and this is his number. He already spoke with Seema aunty, and he’s expecting your call.”