by Zara Raheem
Ghosted
It had been exactly two days, nineteen hours, and twenty-nine minutes since the last time I had heard from Zain. Not that I was counting. I wish I could say that I spent the time casually going about my day, totally cool and confident with how the date went. But in reality, I spent every waking minute dissecting the entire night in my head, replaying every single minute, picking it apart to the bones. I checked my phone obsessively while simultaneously hating the fact that I had allowed myself to become so invested after just one date. A million insecurities clawed at the back of my mind, preventing me from thinking clearly: Why hasn’t he called yet? Will he ask me out again? What if he isn’t interested? What if I wasn’t pretty enough? Maybe it was just a pity date after all. By the time Tuesday rolled around, I was a total mess.
“So he hasn’t texted or called you since Saturday?” Liv asked.
I nodded and buried my head in my knees. “What do you think it means?” I asked, my words smothered behind my sweatshirt.
“Maybe he’s following the three-day rule,” Hannah offered. “You know, when a guy waits three days before asking to see you again, so he doesn’t appear desperate.”
“No one follows that rule anymore.” I looked up at Tania and Liv. “Right? That rule no longer applies, right?” My voice rose with uncertainty.
“I suppose it depends on how interested the guy is,” Liv said. “I’ve had guys call or text back the very next day. Sometimes even the same night.”
I buried my head once again. There was a hollow pit forming in the base of my stomach.
“I just don’t understand what happened.” I squeezed the corners of my eyes. “That night seemed so . . . perfect. He kept leaning in close to me. We practically laughed the whole time. He even held my hand as he walked me to my car—and not just a flimsy hand-hold but like this.” I interlocked my fingers to show them. I could still feel the warmth of his fingers as they wrapped around mine. I swallowed the lump that was rising in my throat. “I just . . . I . . . I really like him.”
The room was quiet, none of us knowing what to say.
After a few moments, Tania broke the silence. “Okay, let’s break this down. What did he say to you after he walked you to your car?”
I scanned my mind, trying to remember as clearly as I could. “We hugged, and he said good night? I think?” I had spent so much time replaying the dinner portion of the date that the last part of the night seemed hazy now.
“But did he say he’s looking forward to seeing you again? Or that he’ll call you? Or . . . something?”
I shook my head. “I can’t remember.”
“He lives in Houston, right? How long was he in town for?”
“I think only a week. Do you think he might have flown back and that’s why he didn’t call?” I perked up at the possibility. What if I was overreacting? It had only been two days. Maybe everything was fine.
“Possibly. But . . .” Tania trailed off.
“What?”
Tania looked over at Liv and Hannah, and then back at me. “It’s not like they don’t have phones in Houston.” She sat down next to me. “He still could’ve texted you or something to let you know he had a nice time.”
My heart dropped again.
“If the date went as well as you say, Leila, why don’t you just text him?” Hannah looked around at our faces. “There’s no rule against that, is there?”
The room went silent again.
“I disagree,” Tania stated firmly. “I think if there’s interest, it’s the guy’s job to initiate.”
“Says who?” Hannah pushed.
“No one . . . it’s just kind of understood,” Tania said. I nodded, letting her know that I agreed. I had gone out with enough desis over the past couple of months to know that men were always the ones to initiate a second date. I think it had something to do with the thrill of the chase. Whenever women did the pursuing, it ended in heartbreak. Take Naina Kapoor in Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham or Veronica Malaney in Cocktail—the last thing I wanted was to share their fate.
“I just don’t think it’s that big of a deal,” Hannah said.
“I do.” Tania shrugged.
“I’m kind of with Hannah,” Liv said. “What if he’s just really timid?”
“Or what if he’s unsure of how you felt about the date, so he’s just playing it safe?” Hannah asked.
“Do you really think?” I suddenly felt perplexed. I thought I’d made it clear to Zain that I really liked him. I laughed at all of his jokes—even the one about the imam in a bar. I could no longer remember the punch line, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t that funny. I listened attentively to stories about his patients at the clinic; I pretended not to be horrified when he admitted he was a Trekkie. I “accidentally” touched his arm multiple times throughout the night. I was nothing short of obvious in the way I flirted with him . . . unless, maybe I wasn’t? Maybe I should have made more eye contact? Or sat closer to him? I suddenly began second-guessing my every move. Every detail from that night was now painted with streaks of doubt.
“Most guys aren’t that good at picking up on subtle cues. Maybe you felt like you were making your feelings clear, but he still had no idea,” Hannah explained.
“Maybe . . .” I wondered aloud.
“And technically, he did initiate the second date,” Hannah continued.
“He did?”
“Yeah. Wasn’t the first date the one your moms set up?”
She was right! I’d completely forgotten about the ambush.
“What’s the rule on third dates?” Liv asked, turning toward Tania.
“I . . . I don’t know,” Tania said slowly. “I don’t go on many third dates.”
“What about with Zeeshan?”
“He’s always initiated all our dates,” she said quietly, turning a deep pink.
“If only Zain were the same way.” I dropped my head in my hands. “What do I do?”
“Text him!” Hannah exclaimed.
“It couldn’t hurt.” Liv nodded in agreement. I looked at Tania. She shrugged but didn’t protest. Maybe that meant she wasn’t totally opposed to the idea. Maybe it wasn’t that big a deal. I had just spent the last two days agonizing over why Zain hadn’t texted me. My patience and emotions were wearing thin. And why should I be the one doing all the waiting? I was a modern, independent, twenty-first-century woman who didn’t even want a traditional husband! Why was I adhering to traditional rules by sitting around in the hopes that Zain would make the next move? And, he technically did initiate the second date, as Hannah pointed out. Maybe the ball was in my court.
“Grab my purse,” I finally said, my mind made up. All these rules were silly. I had wasted days wondering and doubting and guessing when I could’ve just texted him. Women initiated dates all the time. Maybe not in Bollywood films, but in real life, it was no big deal. If Zain is the type of man who’s uncomfortable with a woman texting him first, then maybe he isn’t the nontraditional husband I’m looking for after all, I thought, biting my lip.
“Have you thought about what you’re going to say?” Hannah asked, handing me my purse.
While rummaging through the contents at the bottom of my bag, I tried to compose the perfect message. Should I be forthright? Should I be coy? Should I be breezy and casual? My palms were sweating and I hadn’t even started texting yet. I finally fished out my phone and held it in front of me like a ticking bomb. “I can’t think of what to say!” I exclaimed desperately.
“Want me to do it?” Tania offered. I jerked back the phone.
“No thanks. In case you forgot, that was how I got into this mess in the first place!” I stared at the screen until my heartbeat steadied, and then finally clicked on Zain’s name and began typing—my fingers shaking as they hovered over the screen.
“‘Hey, you! Had a great time the other night . . .’” I read aloud.
“Tell him you want to see him again!”
“Oh, and ask him when
he’s available.”
“Is that too aggressive?”
“Maybe you should just wait another day before texting him?”
“Tania, she’s already waited three days!”
“But how do we know he’s not going to—”
“How about this?” I interrupted, impatient. “‘Hey, you! Had a great time the other night. Looking forward to seeing you again. Let me know when you’re free.’” I held up my phone so they could see the message.
“Flirty yet casual.”
“But still direct.”
“Maybe too direct?”
“No, not at all. It’s perfect,” Liv said, giving me a thumbs-up.
“Should I put an exclamation mark at the end?” I asked.
“No, that’s definitely too eager,” Tania said, shaking her head.
“Didn’t you put a winky face in the last message?” I said, annoyed.
“I think the exclamation shows that she’s bubbly and excited.”
“A bit too excited.”
“I think she should.”
“But she’s already got one exclamation mark in there!”
“I didn’t know there were also rules against punctuation!”
We finally settled on a smiley face—which was just as friendly without being as high risk. I checked the message and then double-checked once more before finally clicking SEND, and then the four of us waited. Almost instantly, the “read time” showed up below my message.
“He read it!” I shrieked. We all crowded around the screen anxiously waiting for the three dots to appear that would indicate his reply. A few minutes passed. Then ten. After about fifteen minutes, I started to feel the lump reemerging in my throat. Why hasn’t he replied? He’s obviously seen my message. It even said he read it . . . What could be his reason? Did he not have a good time? Does he not want to see me again? This was not a scenario I had expected. I blinked back hot tears of disappointment as I tried to figure out what his nonreply could mean.
“Maybe he just clicked on your message accidentally but didn’t really read it?”
“Maybe he’s in the middle of something and can’t respond right now?”
“Maybe he needs more time to come up with a witty, well-crafted response?”
“Maybe he dropped his phone?”
“Or maybe his phone got stolen just as he was about to text you back!”
After about twelve additional maybes, Hannah, Liv, and Tania came to the conclusion that Zain would most likely text me later. Not most likely, but most certainly. He would most certainly text me later, they reassured me. I really hoped they were right.
* * *
After I got home that night, I checked my phone about a thousand times, rereading my text and overanalyzing every single word. I never should have put in that smiley face! It was too juvenile. I should’ve just used the extra exclamation mark. Why did I let them talk me out of it? In the back of my mind, I knew I was being irrational. But when I still didn’t hear anything the following day, or the day after, I conference-called my friends, hoping they could offer me some insight.
“I can’t believe he still hasn’t responded!” Hannah exclaimed.
Liv, however, was not nearly as shocked.
“I hate to be the one to say it, Leila. But you just got ghosted,” she said gently.
Ghosted? I let her words sink in. Could it be? Was Zain—thoughtful, funny, sweet Zain—really the type of guy who would just disappear like that? Was he really the type of guy to fall off the face of the earth without so much as a simple explanation?
“It’s a shitty thing to do,” she continued sympathetically. “But we’ve all been there, Leila. You’ve probably even done it yourself.”
I would never be that insensitive! I reflected back on all the one-meeting dates I had been on over the past few weeks. I was always forthright when I was not interested in a second date. There were only a few instances, especially if the guy was persistent, when I would take longer to respond to texts—or I would respond less frequently—until communication eventually ceased. But I justified this strategy by telling myself that this was a far kinder way to reject a person. Besides, who wanted to hear all the reasons why a person didn’t like them? Sometimes it was just easier to not say anything . . .
“So is this Zain’s way of . . . rejecting me?” I held my breath, dreading their response. Even just hearing myself say the R-word caused my insides to ache.
“We don’t really know what it means because he hasn’t given you an explanation,” Tania said. I suddenly realized that all those unanswered texts—which I’d perceived to be a form of kindness—were just another level of ghosting. Now that I was on the receiving end, I finally understood how cruel it was for me to withhold that closure from those men, just as cruel as it was for Zain to withhold it from me.
“Maybe he’s not rejecting you. Maybe it’s just bad timing. Or maybe he really did get his phone stolen! It could be anything,” Hannah said slowly. I knew she was trying to remain optimistic, but her excuses provided me with little solace.
“Whatever it is, Leila, I think you just have to be okay with the fact that you may never know the exact reason.” Tania sighed.
I squeezed my eyes shut, swallowing the pain as the truth sank in: I had been ghosted. I had been rejected. No reason given would lessen the hurt surrounding this fact.
“Maybe I’ve been guilty of ghosting in the past too,” I said in a thin, shaky voice. “It’s just usually when you ghost a person, it’s because you know there’s absolutely no chance of it working out between the two of you. But with Zain,” I continued, trying not cry, “I don’t know . . . it was different.”
“It was for you, Leila,” Liv said softly.
“No, not just for me,” I said, the sting of her words puncturing my shattered heart. I was aware of how crazy I sounded, but I needed to make them understand. To make me understand. “He liked me! Zain, he . . . I could tell he—” My voice cracked.
“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.
“I’m fine,” I said, pushing my eggs from one end of the plate to the other. I had no idea if my mother knew that I had seen Zain again, but I didn’t want to risk giving her more access to my life than she already had.
“You haven’t eaten anything. Can I make you something else?”
“No. No, Ammi, I’m fine, I’m just a little tired,” I said, getting up.
“You can always talk to me if something is wrong,” my mother said softly.
I nodded and walked back into my room. I knew she could sense I was upset, but she was the last person I wanted to talk to about Zain. If I so much as mentioned his name, she would immediately call Yasmeen aunty, and I couldn’t deal with any more humiliation. If my mother had never forced me to go to that lunch, I never would have met him, and I never would have gotten my heart broken. I knew it was unfair to hold her solely responsible for what happened between the two of us, but I couldn’t help but feel that she shared at least some portion of the blame.
In an attempt to protect my fragile emotions, I decided to avoid my mother for the next week and tried everything I could to get over Zain on my own. I even pushed myself to go on a few more dates—and some second and third dates; however, my self-esteem had been so rattled, I just couldn’t think clearly. Zain remained in the back of my mind like an unwanted guest.
When I used to go out, I was mainly concerned with how much I would like my date. Now, I was petrified that he wouldn’t like me. These feelings of self-doubt consumed me entirely, and I resented Zain for that. Each time I met a potential suitor, I felt like I had to try extra hard to come off as smart and witty because I desperately needed validation. I needed to prove somehow that Zain had made a mistake. But even when a date would express interest, I instantly assumed there was something wrong: if I wasn’t good enough for Zain, then anyone who did think I was good enough must be substandard. I knew my thinking made no sense, but nothing made sense anymore. My life had been reduced to mere contradictions. I hated Zain, but I also secretly wished he would call me so everything could go back to the way it was that night at the jazz club. With each day that passed, though, the silence on his end eventually started causing me to hate myself. I hated that I felt so powerless over the situation. I hated how crappy I felt all the time. But most of all, I hated that I had allowed myself to yearn for the one guy I couldn’t have.