Beep...beep...beep

My pager went off.

'I have a patient with intense abdominal pain, may be diverticulitis. Please call for possible inpatient admission - Omar Khan'

Omar Khan?

With my luck in desi men, of course I would have to interact with him on the very first day the new interns started.

And how did I even know about him? Well, that was thanks to the annual 'Welcoming The New Interns' email we had received from our residency program about a month ago, and my silly co-residents.

On one of our slow call nights, out of sheer boredom, me and my fellow residents had pulled up that email and decided to rate the new interns based on their looks and guessed what kind of backstory they had.

I agree, it was a very hormonally-charged-teenager moment for us. But it wasn't my idea!

Omar had caught my eye, because he looked like a desi. And also maybe because Kylie, one of my female co-residents had looked at his picture and squealed, "Now he is cute. Dibs on him if he isn't already taken!"

I guess he fit the definition of 'cute', with his bright smile, and brown eyes that looked intently at the camera, and the wavy black hair that looked like he had brushed back using just his fingers. I also knew that the medical school he had graduated from was the highest ranked in Pakistan, but also the most expensive.

So when it came my turn to guess what kind of backstory he had, I figured he would be from a wealthy family back home, had studied at the best private school his parents could afford, was probably pampered by his parents, and thought that women belonged in the kitchen.

In retrospect, that was not a very proud moment for me. I am usually not a judgemental person

However, when I decided to go down to the ER myself instead of returning his page and he addressed me without even bothering to find out who I was, I felt vindicated. That was not the first time that had happened to me, and usually I was able to let things like that roll off me.

But I had worked really hard to get where I was as a senior resident in one of the best hospitals in the country. For him not to acknowledge that had just really bothered me for some reason, and I couldn't help but lose my usual cool demeanor in front of him.

I knew he had looked instantly remorseful, but I also had a feeling that men like him tended to take a lot for granted. Without realizing that for many of us in the US, being a physician did not automatically mean that we came from relatively wealthy families.

My story was not exactly one of rags to riches, but it came pretty close.

My parents had come to the US from Pakistan after winning a visa lottery in the early 1990s. Dad had been enrolled in a college back home, and mom had just finished high school when the two had gotten married. It was a typical arranged marriage of that time, where they hadn't even seen each other till the day of the wedding. Yet, according to them, they had fallen in love at first sight.

But despite the loving atmosphere we grew up in, there were always subtle reminders of how tough our financial situation was. We were the kids that always wore clothes from the consignment shop for at least three years in a row; the first year they would be too big for us, the next year they would fit just right, and the year after that they were too small for us. And then the cycle would start again. Store bought snacks were a treat on birthdays and special occasions only, and those too would be bought using coupons from my mom's trusted Ziploc bag in which she would collect all the coupons for our favorite stores.

Dad had worked as a cab (taxi) driver for many years after my parents first moved to the US, and mom had started a home catering business. Their first stop in the US was New York, where because of the high desi population and a blooming transportation industry, in the pre-rideshare era, they had found plenty of work and friends. This is also where my siblings and I were born, and where my dad later received his diploma in automotive mechanics from a local community college. But when Uber and Lyft started to expand in New York, my dad like many others found himself without enough passengers. That loss of income coupled with rising rents in New York city, forced my parents to look at other places across the US.

That's how we ended up in Chicago, or its suburb Schaumburg to be exact. A local cars dealer was looking for a certified automotive mechanic to work on high-end luxury cars. Since my dad was properly trained and had received high praise from his bosses he immediately got the job. It wasn't an easy one though, with long hours including work on weekends. But as my dad quickly rose through the ranks at work, he would always repeat the same thing.

"God helps those who help themselves"

And then he would follow that up with, "You get what you want, not what you wish for"

Being a teen in the US was not socially easy either. There were always so many temptations, so many things that everyone around me was 'experimenting' with. But in return for my near-perfect upbringing and the sacrifices our parents had made, I had strived to be the perfect daughter.

I remained focused and worked hard, my grades were in the top 90th percentile in every class, I was the president of my high-school's debate team, led our science team to the state championship and took part in every community project organized by our local mosque.

But despite all my credentials and the fact that I managed to get pretty decent scholarships, I ended up having to support myself financially throughout college by working various jobs on campus during my very little free time.

And then, whether it was because my parents thought that I needed companionship during the crazy, busy life I led, or didn't want to take on my financial burden, they insisted that I 'settle down', aka get married. But they also realized pretty quickly that it is extremely difficult to find good proposals in a country where most people don't share your religion, especially if you were not the type to go out and look for eligible men yourself. Or you were a nerd, who wasn't going to win any beauty pageants.

I would never denigrate myself because of my physical attributes, or lack thereof, but I was also a realist. Desi men, and their families, wanted a certain type of a 'look' in their future wives, and unlike my younger sister I did not meet that criteria...that was just my reality, and I was honestly ok with it!

The fact that we had moved to Chicago and did not have a social network to the extent my parents had in New York, did not help. It was perhaps because of this reality, and the fact that I was 26 years old at the time, that they enthusiastically agreed to a proposal sent by their friends from NY for their son.

Jawad Shah was 27 years old, and I remembered him from our mosque in NY when we were all kids. He was a good-looking guy, with a muscular build and had an opinion on everything all the time, which instantly drew me to him. I just loved our friendly banter as well as the serious discussions on current affairs.

When we were introduced to each other by our parents, he still had about a year left in business school in NY and I had about 2 years left in the residency program in Chicago. Since, we were going to be in separate cities anyway, we had decided to get engaged for the time being and had put off the wedding for a year.

Most of the time our conversations had been great. He was open, and honest and despite him having an obvious rebellious streak we seemed to have enough in common. However, recently we had started talking about our future and some of the things he had said to me had caught me off-guard. And one of those things was that he did not really appreciate how inflexible my life was, at least at the moment as a trainee.

The reason I had gone down to the ER instead of just calling the Omar back, was because I was trying to get as much done as possible so I could take a quick break for a few minutes. Jawad had texted me out of the blue that morning that he was in town for a friend's wedding, and wanted to meet up.

He said he would meet me at the entrance of the hospital at 3 pm, and it was now 3:15 pm. I was pacing back and forth impatiently when I saw him walk in to the building. My heart skipped a beat just looking at him. His 6 ft 2 inch muscular frame walked in as if he owned the place. He was still wearing his sunglasses, and between his head full of curly hair and a wide smile with the whitest teeth I had ever seen, I could tell that I wasn't the only one staring at him.

Gosh...he really is good looking! I wonder what he even sees in me...

"Madi!!", he waved while calling out to me.

"Salaam Jawad! This is...uh...a nice surprise. Why didn't you tell me you were coming to Chicago? Or that your friend is getting married?"

"So many questions babe...let's go to this really cute coffee shop I just passed down the road and I'll fill you in!" he flashed his smile at me as he took off his glasses and looked at me with his dark grey eyes.

I almost felt like I was jolted awake from a beautiful dream, but there they were, his unreasonable expectations. I was on call in the hospital, as the senior resident. How did he expect me to just get up and leave?

"Jawad, I can't leave the hospital. I told you I am on call! We can go to the cafeteria if you want..."

He interrupted me, scrunching up his nose, "The hospital cafeteria? Eww..no way. The place smells of disinfectant"

It's the hospital, what else did he expect? There was no way I could go with him anywhere else, and when I repeated that to him, he started to get upset.

"You know Madi...I came all the way here for you, and you can't even take a freaking half an hour out to have coffee with me", his voice was taking on an angry tone, even though he thankfully kept the volume low.

"And Jawad how many times have I told you that I can't just get up and leave my work...I am still a trainee, my schedule is planned weeks in advance!", I kept my voice low. I wanted to mention the fact that he had not actually come to Chicago for me, but I knew that would only escalate the situation. So I kept quiet, as he continued to glare at me.

"Fine...then we can meet after you get off from work in the evening..."

"I am on overnight call...", I almost felt bad now.

"Madi...I am leaving first thing in the morning tomorrow...are you seriously telling me that you can't even take out a half hour for your fiancé?", Jawad frowned and raised his voice, enough that the person at the nearby reception looked up at me.

I was going to tell him to lower his voice and then sound like a broken record by saying that there really wasn't any way for me to take even a half-hour out while on call. But before I could say anything, I heard a familiar voice behind me.

"Dr Ahmed?"

I turned to see Omar standing there with his backpack slung over his shoulder. What does he want?

He looked at Jawad and then back at me, and said, "Umm...Dr Ahmed, the ER attending asked me to come get you"

What? Why would they send him instead of just paging me?

Then it struck me, Omar was trying to give me a reason to get away from the weird situation I had gotten myself in.

"Thank you Dr Khan", I nodded to him, "Jawad, I am sorry, but I have to go"

Whether it was Omar's presence, or he wasn't in the mood to make a scene, Jawad just mumbled, "Suit yourself..." and walked off.

"Are you ok?", Omar said, with obvious concern in his voice.

I had no intention of revealing my personal issues to an intern who I was still upset at, even if he had been nice enough to intervene right now. I should have thanked him, maybe I was too quick to judge him earlier on, but I was too riled up and honestly had enough of men in general, so I nodded and walked back towards the main hospital.

I thought I was falling in love with Jawad, but sometimes he just makes it so hard to remember that.

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