I was the perfect son.

By every standard: my parents', society's and religion's, I was the stereotypical good Pakistani boy.

I studied hard, was the captain of my school's cricket team, got in to the best Medical College in Pakistan and then got accepted to a PhD program in the US.

I prayed, didn't drink alcohol, or do drugs, always fulfilled the wishes of my parents even when I didn't agree with them...except for going in to medicine, then I did stand up against my dad's very strong wishes for me to go to business school.

I never dated, or had girlfriends, there were no scandals about me, I kept all my interactions with females as professional and respectful as possible.

Even when I let myself have feelings for a woman, I made sure she was someone my parents would approve of. Someone who, like me, had no vices. Who was down-to-earth and led an ordinary life without any drama, and came from a well-respected Pakistani family.

Yet somehow here I was...

Dumped 5 days before my wedding, by a woman who I had wanted to get married to for years, sitting alone on a Friday night in my small studio apartment in Wisconsin.

How the hell did I get here?

"Omar, there is really no easy way to say this...", she had started as we sat across each other on the dining table in her Chicago apartment.

Part of me knew that moment would come sooner or later, I just didn't realize how much it would hurt. I had loved her ever since we were teenagers. It nearly broke me when her parents refused to even entertain the idea of our marriage the first time around, but I had told myself that I had made a mistake at that time...she was barely 20 years old then, she had just started medical school and I was leaving the country. Maybe her parents were just looking out for her then. She had her whole life ahead of her, and to be married in medical school would have just complicated it.

I had tried to block her out of my mind completely, and with my busy PhD schedule and being away from her I had more or less succeeded. But when I saw her at our alumni dinner in Chicago, all the memories and emotions had instantly reappeared. We had grown up together and our conversations had always been easy. So even though she had no idea how I really felt about her, meeting her had been like meeting an old friend. We picked up where we had left off, minus the part that my family had sent a proposal for her that she didn't even know about.

Maybe, that had been our problem all along. Our conversations were so easy that maybe she never felt the spark that she wanted to feel in a romantic relationship. Or maybe after a lifetime of holding back and conforming to norms, I was just a dull man in his late twenties, with nothing to offer her. Not like the 'complicated' man she had had chosen over me.

I still remembered the moment she had taken his name in front of me for the first time. Her eyes had widened, her cheeks had flushed and she caught her breath, as if the mere thought of him sent electricity through her body. I should have just ended our relationship then. Or at least I should have ended it when I saw the way she looked at him on the day of her award ceremony. She had never, ever looked at me that way.

But I was in love with her. And selfish or not, I had hoped that the fear of her parents and what she had told me of the other man's past history of alcohol and drug use, and dating blondes would have deterred her from ever acting on her feelings for him. She had always stuck to the rules as a girl, I had never expected her to become a rebellious woman.

Yet, just 5 days before our wedding day she had told me that she was in love with him, and much to my dismay her parents had sided with her when she had told them that she could not get married to me. A small, very small, part of me had respected her for having the courage to make that decision. Most women I know would have been too timid to say anything, perhaps she too would have been too timid to say anything if all of this had happened when she first got to the US. But whether it was the year she had spent on her own, or her love for this other man, she had stood up for herself. And she deserved credit for it, even if she had inadvertently trampled all over my heart.

She would never know how deeply her words had cut through me as she sat across me on her kitchen table. Or how miserable I had felt on our 3 hr drive back home from Chicago, listening to my dad spout profanities against his childhood friend, and my mom berate the woman I was in love with.

The woman I am in love with...

That realization stung every time it hit me. It had been 6 months since I had walked out of Noor's apartment, and I still could not stop thinking about what we could have had together.

My phone rang pulling me out of my misery. It was my mom. I debated not picking it up at all, it was kind of late at night. I could just pretend to be asleep. But I knew why she was calling, and she would keep calling me till I answered her question.

Might as well get it over with!

"Salaam Ami (mom), how are you doing?"

"Wasalaam, and forget about me...have you made a decision yet?", mom didn't even waste a minute before getting to the point.

"No Ami, I haven't...I have been working overtime trying to wrap up my PhD..."

"Omar, this is the fifth girl I have sent details of to you. All of them are so pretty and belong to good families, what is your problem? Why don't you give us the go ahead to move things forward with one of them?"

Because none of them are her...the only woman I had ever wanted to marry and build a life with.

Almost as if my mom could read my mind over the phone, she continued, "And if you are still hung up on that immoral girl...get over it! She has been nothing but trouble for you..."

"Ami she is not immoral...falling in love with someone is not against our religion", I spoke out instinctively, unsure of why I kept defending her in front of my parents.

"Omar, love marriages always fail. We told you that when you insisted on sending a proposal for Noor, and look what happened. I can guarantee you that her marriage will also fail..."

That immediately made me cringe. I had always cherished our friendship, and even if we had no relationship at all now, I could never wish ill-fate on her. But my mom had always been against love marriages, like most of our society was, and my sorrowful tale had just cemented that belief.

She must have realized what my silence meant, because she when she spoke again her tone had softened, "Look son, you trusted us to find you a wife...but we still want you to have a say in it. In fact we are obligated to make sure that you have a say in it. So please don't make our job hard. As parents, we just want the best for you"

I knew they were just trying to help me. But I was still hurting, and I just did not have it in me to go through the process of talking to someone and planning for a wedding etc.

"I know that Ami...just give me a little more time and I promise you I will think about this and let you know"

"Fine...", she replied begrudgingly, "But little time should mean little time only! People are still talking about you and our family here in Pakistan, so the faster you are married the better it is for everyone"

Ah yes! I almost forgot about the people talking about us. My wedding had been scheduled for just a couple of weeks before my sister's wedding. And many of the guests at her wedding had been invited to mine as well. My wedding getting called off, had, unfortunately, completely distracted everyone from my sister's. I still remember the whispering and side glances that started as soon as I entered the hotel ballroom where my sister was going to get married.

My parents had felt utterly humiliated and embarrassed, and the only way to deflect that was to throw Noor under the bus. So she became the dishonorable westernized woman who had cheated on me with her American boyfriend. I hated it, I knew she had not crossed any boundaries...but try as I might, my parents were in no mood to change that story.

After all, I was their son was the stereotypical good Pakistani son who could not have done anything wrong.

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