The bond between two sisters is becoming a bit of a greeting cards cliche. There's never been that sort of card for the close bond that you and I share. So I'm writing you this letter instead. Since you've become a counsellor you've talked a lot about endings. How people struggle when one chapter closes. Of course, you were referring to death but, as I always do, I brought it back to me. Your inevitable departure is something that's filled me with dread. As you move on to married life, I won't have you there to talk about my daily gripes.
Your success is something I boast about because you seldom do. A BSc, an MSc and a PhD are phenomenal achievements and a wonderful tribute to Dad, who never had an education himself.
A lot of symbolism surrounds Pakistani weddings. And I must admit I'm dreading the Rukhsati as you bid farewell to us and embark on your new life. I promise to do you proud and not shed a tear.
I might shed a tear.
The night before we lost Grandad, I remember saying (the way people often do, when a wedding looms) "Crikey, only a week left."
The next day we woke to the news that Grandad had died and we sort of lost our way as our parents made plans to fly to Pakistan for the funeral. There was a wedding to postpone and, as always, with a heart of gold but with nerves of steel you took charge and postponed your happy day until it felt right.
That day is now close again and as you embark on the next chapter of your life, I wish you a lifetime of happiness. It's nothing more than you deserve.
Perhaps I should leave it there but instead I'm going to adapt something George Clooney said in Up in the Air: "Every family has the one person who keeps the genealogy in check. That's my sister Naila – the glue."
