“With Clueless vibes for a new generation” ( School Library Journal ), this young adult rom-com follows a spoiled American teenager who faces some major culture shock—and potential romance—when she jets off to Bangladesh for her sister’s wedding. Bibi Hossain was supposed to get her first kiss this summer. Too bad her father finds out and grounds her for breaking his most arcane rule: No boys until your sister gets married. Just when Bibi thinks she’ll be stuck helping him at their popular fried chicken chain until school reopens, her oh-so-perfect older sister Halima drops a bombshell: she’s marrying the heir of a princely estate turned tea garden in Bangladesh. Soon, Bibi is hopping on the next flight to Sylhet for Halima’s Big Fat Bengali Wedding, hoping Abbu might even rethink the dating ban while they’re there. Unfortunately, the stuffy Rahmans are a nightmare—especially Sohel, the groom’s younger brother. The only thing they can agree on is that their siblings are not a good match. But as the two scheme to break their siblings up, Bibi finds it impossible to stay away from the infuriatingly handsome boy. Could her own happily ever after be brewing even as she stirs up trouble for her sister’s engagement—or is there more steeping at the tea estate than Bibi knows? Praise for Always Be My Bibi A Junior Library Guild Gold Standard Selection “Family dynamics, love, and dating make for a bracing cuppa.” —Kirkus Reviews “With Clueless vibes for a new generation, this rom-com of disastrous meet-cute to happily ever after will brighten any reader’s day.” —School Library Journal Priyanka Taslim is a Bangladeshi American writer, educator, and lifelong New Jersey resident. Having grown up in a bustling Bangladeshi diaspora community, surrounded by her mother’s entire clan and many aunties of no relation, her writing often features families, communities, and all the drama therein. Currently, Priyanka teaches English by day and tells all kinds of stories about Bengali characters by night. Her writing usually stars spunky heroines finding their place in the world…and a little swoony romance, too. You can connect with her on X, TikTok, and Instagram @BhootBabe and check out her website, PriyankaTaslim.com. Chapter One CHAPTER ONE After sixteen years, the reign of Daddy’s little princess has finally come to an end. That much is clear from the way Abbu is currently glaring over my shoulder, stocky arms crossed over one of the neatly pressed button-ups he insists on wearing every! Single! Day! Even though: it’s July ; - fryer grease makes the kitchen at least twenty degrees hotter than it is outside, leaving stains under his armpits and the faint stench of BO in the air (gag); and - wearing a Brooks Brothers dress shirt in a fast-food joint is practically a crime against fashion. Do you see what I have to deal with? “Don’t just throw the pieces into the box, Bibi”—his voice drops a decibel as his eyes skirt past the drive-through window—“and you’re giving him too many breasts.” Several snarky retorts sit on the tip of my tongue, but I settle for rolling my eyes. It’s not like I don’t know each Royal Family Value Bucket is supposed to get “one breast, two thighs, two drumsticks, and a smile.” I’ve had the menu memorized since I was four. It’s just that I couldn’t care less. Oblivious to my saintlike restraint, he thins his lips under a thick, bristly mustache. “Enough of the attitude, young lady. Working for me this summer is so much better than being grounded at home, and it’s time you start appreciating it. When I was your age, I…” I tune him out the second he starts down memory lane. If being stuck in the house was the frying pan, Royal Fried Chicken is the whole freaking fire. He’s acting like our house is some hovel next to the highway and not a seven-bedroom mansion with a home theater. I am so sick of my battered and fried jail cell and its authoritarian warden that I’d even sacrifice my new Louboutin boots if it meant I could serve out the rest of my sentence in the comfort of my own home. In fact, a rom-com and popcorn in those overstuffed armchairs and ice-cold air-conditioning sounds heavenly right about now. Instead here I am, in a two-sizes-too-large red polo with a crown stitched onto the breast pocket that I’m forced to tuck into baggy tan corduroys. Black orthopedic sneakers and an RFC baseball cap complete the look. Barf! To top it off, I can feel a layer of airborne grease totally clogging up my recently facialed pores. Do you have any idea how many showers it takes to wash that deep-fried stench out of your skin, clothes, and hair? (Spoiler alert: infinity.) When I don’t take the bait, my dad fixes a smile onto his face and busies himself with tidying a toppled pile of soft drink lids. He reeks of forced enthusiasm and french fries. “Besides, it will be fun to have my little princess here with me. Just like old times.” I stifle a snort an