Chapter 1
The Rejection
It's 6:45 p.m. and I'm sitting in a cafe.
The cafe is cozy, filled with the soft hum of conversations and the occasional clinking of porcelain. Warm yellow lights hang above the wooden tables, casting gentle pools of light across the room.
It's quite crowded.
A couple sits near the window, sharing a slice of cake and smiling at each other.
At least someone here is having a pleasant evening.
I'm sitting in the corner, waiting for the man my parents asked me to meet.
I’m Saba. I'm twenty-five years old, recently graduated with a degree in biotechnology and according to my parents, dangerously close to becoming a spinster.
Okay, maybe they don't actually use the word spinster.
But they act like it.
This is the sixth proposal my parents have brought me in two months.
And now you're probably wondering what happened to the other five.
I rejected them.
Yep. I actually rejected five proposals.
For desi parents, that is practically a crime.
Apparently, rejecting someone is a boy's right. A girl's job is to smile politely and say yes.
Well, I didn't get that memo.
My mom is so worried that she has been calling me repeatedly but I can't answer her right now.
I'm on a mission.
I want to find the perfect man for me so I never have to settle for the bare minimum.
Because I refuse to have a marriage like my parents'.
I've seen too many terrible marriages in my family. I've watched people stay in relationships that slowly drained the happiness out of them.
And I've seen what happened to my mother.
She was brilliant. She was an architect and she loved her work. But after she married my father, she sacrificed her career, her happiness, her health—basically everything for her family.
I watched it happen.
And I promised myself it would never happen to me.
So if I ever get married, I will find the perfect man.
Someone who respects me.
Someone who supports my dreams.
Someone who doesn't expect me to sacrifice everything just because I'm a woman.
Someone who makes me feel like I'm gaining a partner, not another responsibility.
I don't think that's too much to ask.
Do I?
I glance at the clock.
7:00 p.m.
He was supposed to be here at six.
Six.
Not seven.
What kind of guy makes a girl wait for an entire hour?
He should be the one waiting for me.
What a pathetic way to make a first impression.
I can already imagine my parents blaming me for rejecting him.
Again.
But is it really my fault?
How am I supposed to marry someone who can't even show up on time?
