Every day, my eyes glittered with hope, wondering if the man I was destined to marry was sitting right opposite me on the tube or if he’d walk past me in the street. I wanted to meet someone completely by chance. I had filled my head with romantic stories of chance and fate and soulmates, and I wanted all of that. The problem was, my own way didn’t include a plan of action. I was trying to buy myself some time, to find someone my own way. Every now and again my mother would call with details of some suitable boy, but I changed the subject or made excuses, saying I was too busy. I’d say I was busyĪfter graduation, instead of meeting potential marriage suitors I moved to Paris for my masters degree and then to London after that for work. My mother would call with details of suitable boys. Above all, I craved romance and didn’t think that would be possible with my parents and possible future in-laws overseeing my every step.
I wasn’t ready I planned to travel, to write, to study for another degree. We were on holiday in Florence, eating lunch in the sunshine, and when they said all this I felt the sun withdraw behind the clouds. They said it was time I started considering my options, and that I should be introduced to some of those families and their sons. The summer before my final year of university, my parents spoke to me about arranged marriage proposals that had come for me. In my head, I merged these two opposing desires: the man I’d one day fall in love with would also magically meet all my family’s requirements. More than that, I didn’t want to have to lie. I wanted my own happy ending, even though the ones I saw on screen or read in books rarely featured girls like me.Īt university I saw girls of my background in clandestine relationships with boyfriends they weren’t supposed to be with, but it seemed like an awful lot of stress to hide it from their parents, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep that up. But when my time came, I desperately hoped to marry for love first and not merely obligation. I had grown up hearing that marriage was an important part of Islam, and that love came after marriage. More than anything, I wanted to know what love felt like. I mourned Joey’s unrequited love in Dawson’s Creek with great heartache on her behalf, though I knew the object of her affection was unworthy. I read Jane Austen obsessively, always a little disappointed that Marianne didn’t get to be with Willoughby. Boyfriends were firmly not allowed, but I spent a lot of time pining, perhaps more for something than someone. Still, though I knew it was expected of me, I began to long for more than a match made by my parents.
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