“But how do you know?”

I muted the phone as tears pushed against the rims of my eyes. There was something there. The way he looked at me. The way he leaned into my shoulder. The way he hugged me goodbye . . . he held me so close . . . clinging on longer than expected. Where did it go wrong?

“I’m so sorry, Leila,” Liv said.

“Yeah, Leila, it’ll be okay,” Hannah added.

“So, do you . . . do you think I’ll ever hear from him again?” I finally asked, weakly.

“Maybe not,” Tania said. I drew in a deep breath. The thought of never hearing from Zain again, let alone seeing him, crushed me. It felt like all of my hopes had been snatched from me, and I couldn’t bear the thought. “Leila, whether you hear from him or not, you have to be ready to move on.”

“She’s right,” Liv said. “You can’t waste any more of your time and energy on Zain when you only have a few more weeks before your deadline is up.”

I knew my friends were trying to keep me focused on the bigger picture, but the last thing I wanted to think about was the stupid deadline. I was heartbroken. I had finally met someone I liked. Someone I could see myself falling in love with. But my Bollywood fairy tale had ended before it even started, and I had no idea why. The least Zain could have done was give me a simple reason for why he didn’t see it working out between us. Why wouldn’t he at the very least give me that? Was I that insignificant to him that he doesn’t even think I’m worth an explanation?

After hanging up the phone, I sat there for hours, imagining all the beautiful, thin, fair-skinned girls who were probably throwing themselves at Zain in Houston. With each agonizing thought, my insecurities chewed away at me, bit by bit. Of course he’s not interested in you. You’re not his type. You’re not even in the same league as him. He can definitely do better.

This was the first time in the entire process that I, Leila Abid, had been rejected, and it finally dawned on me that this was a two-way street. All this time I had focused solely on finding my Mr. Perfect. It hadn’t even occurred to me that Mr. Perfect would have to think I was Ms. Perfect in order for this to actually end the way I had hoped. Looking at the calendar on my wall marking down the days until my deadline, I finally broke down and cried for the first time since I had started this search seven weeks ago. I cried for the possibility of what could have been. I cried for the disappointments that would inevitably follow, and for the growing realization that this might not be something I could pull off after all.

Family Dinner

“Everything okay, Leila?” my mother asked me at the breakfast table the next morning.