I cringed. This was not the first time I had heard this saying. All Muslims grew up hearing some version of this: “Marriage is half your religion” or “Marriage will complete you” or “Your life doesn’t truly begin until you get married.” With each year that passed, these phrases were tossed around more frequently; often being used as a guilt tactic by Muslim parents to remind their children of their priorities.

“Here are just a few rishtas we thought might be good matches for you.” My mother pointed to a bulleted list with each name highlighted in one of three colors—most likely organized in order of compatibility. The sheer excitement in her voice matched the degree of dread steadily rising inside of me.

“Leila, you remember the Dhakkars, right? Well,” she continued before I even had a chance to respond, “one of their close family friends, the Rehmans, have a son who is around your age. Can you believe that?” she squealed, as if this were the most exciting news since the inception of JadooTV. “He is just finishing his last year of residency at County General, and your father and I were thinking of inviting them for dinner.” I instantly knew where this was headed, and I did not like it one bit. “What do you say, Leila?”

As she eagerly searched my face for a response, I turned to my father in hopes that his innate sensibility would kick in at this precise moment and work to my advantage. “Abba,” I said. “Please tell me you’re not trying to set me up on a blind date?”

“Of course not, beti,” he said calmly. I let out a deep sigh of relief. “We would never force you to do a blind date. Come look, see here is a picture of him.” He removed a page from the stack and pointed to a two-by-three head shot stapled to the bottom.

I knew then it was time to make my exit. I quickly excused myself as my mother continued to pull out other options from the portfolio whom I could choose from “if the Rehmans’ son is not your type.” As I walked to my room—in utter confusion and disbelief at what had just occurred—I could not help but think that my parents had absolutely lost their minds. Yes, I had heard them engage in conversations over the years with other aunties and uncles in the community who had arranged marriages for their children, but never before had they brought up the topic with me. I had just assumed they considered the practice to be outdated.

And while it was true that my own belief in love had somewhat fluctuated over the years, there was still no way I could bring myself to abandon my long-held fantasies of a Bollywood love story and agree to an arranged marriage. Besides, I was perfectly content being single for the time being. Was there still a part of me that shared their hopes of my one day being married? Sure, but I needed to go through the process in a way that didn’t involve my parents or their ridiculous color-coded portfolio. Whether I would ever experience love or not, who knew? But the mere possibility of it was enough to convince me to reject my parents’ offer. And once I came to this conclusion, I knew that there was nothing they could say or do to make me change my mind.