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“It’s fine. And you don’t have to pretend, I know you never liked Mariam.” Lucky looked out the window, but there was nothing but clouds as far as he could see, and he tried not to think about his father or the failed restaurant that had brought them to Chicago—and the betrayal that had kept them there.

He had confided some of it to Samir, but for the most part, he hated thinking about that first year in Chicago, when everything had fallen apart.

They were all in a better place now—him, his brother, his mother. They were building something new for themselves. They had their house, and Lucky’s business was doing well. If they stayed on this path, pretty soon they would be out of debt and able to recover. Maybe then his mother would stop worrying about every little thing. He heard the sound of his niece, bright and happy, a few rows back, and smiled. Nisa had been the light of his family since her birth. So many times, when he had been on the verge of giving up, her little smile had inspired him to keep going.

“You’ll find your person too,” Samir said now. His friend grinned. “Weddings are a great place to meet girls. Hania has a sister.”

Lucky shook his head. “Please promise me you won’t become one of those guys who thinks everyone needs to get married and insists on setting people up.”

Samir’s smile widened. “I make no promises. I just want you to be happy, Lucky. You’re one of the best people I know.” He paused. “Also, you’re right, I never liked Mariam. She wasn’t serious about you. I’m low-key glad she dumped you.”

Lucky threw his wrapper at Samir. “Some friend you are. Mariam breaks my heart and you cheer.”

“She didn’t break your heart. Admit it: You only went along with that relationship because it was easy. You never caught feelings. If I see her, I’ll thank her for doing you a favor by ending it. Now you can find something real.”

A vision of Dina’s pretty face, smiling at him as they studied, and her delight at his goofy Post-it messages, floated up to him now, but he shook his head. That dream had set sail for Arshad-shaped waters years ago; Dina had made it clear what she thought of him when she had married his best friend. Ex–best friend.

He put his seat back and closed his eyes. “Wake me when we get to Canada.”

Chapter Five

Hey, Hania-holics, it’s your girl HaniaBanana Haq, coming at you from Pearson International! I’m here to meet the bharat, the groom’s party! I know it’s a little non-tradish, but your girl is a modern desi bride, here to welcome her mans to the 6ix, the one and only T-Dot, Tronno in Style. And I have a Huge surprise for all of you watching! Stay tuned, friends!

Hania posed with her lips pursed and one eye closed, her index finger and thumb pinched together making a “heart,” before turning off the live stream. In the front of the car, Lisa and Dina exchanged a bemused glance.

“How many people tuned in to your clickbait, Hani?” Dina asked.

Hania checked her reflection in her phone’s camera and straightened her hijab. “Not a lot. Like, maybe 10K. Right, Ambreen?” Dina looked at the fourth passenger in the car, her sister’s social media manager, Ambreen Abbas, a serious twenty-one-year-old who rarely cracked a smile and always dressed in black. Even today, Ambreen was dressed in oversize black jeans and a black sweater, hijab tied turban-style, eyes heavily lined, her lipstick a deep maroon. Even her nose ring and eyebrow piercing were black. She was also the best brand and content manager Hania had ever worked with and was largely responsible for the video series that had kick-started Hania’s rise as one of the top hijabi influencers across various social media platforms.

Dina and Lisa found Ambreen terrifying; they were pretty sure she slept upside down in a cave somewhere.

“’S a good start, I s’pose,” Ambreen mumbled. High praise indeed. Behind them, three other cars carried Hania’s entourage—her best friends, all with names seeming to end with an a: Samia, Rania, Jameela, Marya, Humera, Nayla, Faiza, Leena. Dina couldn’t really tell them apart and had started to refer to them as the “A girls”—though, to be fair, she and Hania also belonged to this ubiquitous class of Muslim girl names. Another car held her parents, who loved a splashy entrance almost as much as Dina hated it.

Hania poked her head between the two headrests and cast a critical look on the outfits one of her sponsors, a desi clothing boutique, had chosen for both the women riding up front to wear. Lisa had needed little encouragement to don a bright-pink lengha, short tunic tight around her baby bump, long skirt embellished with purple, yellow, and blue embroidery. She had pinned her long hair up, and the dupatta shawl pinned to the back of her head completed the look. Dina, who did not favor bold colors, had somehow been coaxed into a bright-orange confection that she thought made her resemble an orange Popsicle. Hania had repeatedly assured her the color would really pop on camera.

Desi designers had been eager to dress Hania and the bridal party, with the promise of revenue from the many thousands of eyeballs that would be on the festivities. Tonight was the first unofficial event, and considering how uncomfortable Dina felt in her current getup, she was dreading what other costume choices her sister had in store for her.

As Lisa maneuvered her Mercedes G-wagon to park at the private jet center, set in a separate part of the Pearson International Airport complex, Hania explained that Samir had chartered a private plane to bring his guests to Toronto. That sounded like the sort of needless expense Hania loved, and that would help sell the glamorous lifestyle her sister wanted to project on social media. She kept this disapproval to herself. After all, she wasn’t the one getting married.

The women disembarked, and after the A girls spilled out of their various vehicles, giggling and posing for the camera held by an expressionless Ambreen, they walked inside the luxuriously appointed private terminal at Toronto Pearson, where Dina spotted a small propeller plane. The A girls all squealed and pointed, putting on a show for Ambreen, while Hania blushed prettily.

“So, your sister met this dude like a year ago on the apps, right?” Lisa said as they walked behind Hania and her friends. “How did they go from meeting online to an engagement six months later to an actual wedding in such a short time?”

Dina smiled. Her friend had been with her now husband for almost seven years before either one of them so much as mentioned marriage.

“Muslims just move a little faster when it comes to marriage,” she said. “Not always—or in every case, of course—but overall. It’s cultural,” Dina explained.

“Okay, but how did this all play out?” Lisa persisted.

One of the A girls overheard Lisa’s questions and turned to face them. “I know how it all went down!” she announced. “It was because of me.”

Another of the A girls—Dina thought her name was Humera—piped up. “Whatever, Nayla, you know I hooked them up.”

The commotion had caught Ambreen’s attention, which in turn caused the rest of the A girls to gather around Dina and Lisa. Finally, Hania broke in.

“Okay, this story is mine to tell,” she said, smiling prettily at the camera. “For a full deep dive, you can watch this video.” She held up a finger pointed upward.

Mystified, Dina looked up. Lisa nudged her and said, “The link will be added in post. Stop embarrassing yourself,” before being shushed by one of the entourage—Samia, maybe?