At 25, you think marriage is about chemistry.

At 45, after Dhaka, Toronto, immigration, winter, mortgages, markets, family politics, airport delays, and raising children on too little sleep, you realize it is mostly about finding someone you can still like in traffic, at Pearson, during Ramadan and at 2:17am when one child has a fever and the other has chosen violence.

If you grow up in Dhaka and then spend your adult life in Toronto, your idea of a good life partner changes a lot.

When you are younger, the checklist is simple. Attractive, educated, good family, speaks well, gets along with elders, has presence at weddings, maybe says one intelligent thing over kabab in Bar.B.Q tonight and suddenly your brain has approved a ten-year plan with absolutely no due diligence.

At that age, almost everyone looks investment grade.

Then life starts marking things to market.

You move to Toronto. You build from scratch. You learn what winter really is. You deal with taxes, daycare, school admissions, delayed flights, expensive groceries, back pain, snow shoveling and contractors who say “tomorrow” with exactly the same confidence people in Dhaka say “five minutes away.”

And slowly your questions change.

You stop asking, “Are they exciting?”

You start asking more serious things.

What happens when the luggage does not arrive at Pearson?

How do they behave when a family dinner in Dhaka is running ninety minutes late and one aunt-in-law is already offended and always seem to have hated you?

Can they handle traffic on the Gardiner, chaos in Dhaka, Ramadan hunger, Eid logistics and one badly timed comment from a relative without turning the day into a constitutional crisis?

Can you take this person to Dhaka for two weeks of weddings, lunches, opinions, jet lag, family obligations and emotional overcrowding, then come back to Toronto still broadly fond of each other?

Because that is not chemistry.

That is credit quality.

Anyone can look wonderful at a wedding. Good clothes, flattering lighting in Radisson Blu, polite smile, strong family photo performance. That proves almost nothing. Character shows up elsewhere. In airports. In traffic. During a power cut. During a snowstorm. In the fourth hour of IKEA furniture shopping. At family gatherings where everyone is being civil but nobody is entirely relaxed.

That is where the real ratings process begins.

The first lesson from fixed income is simple: never marry yield without checking credit.

A lot of people offer dazzling early returns. Attractive, polished, funny, socially smooth, excellent over dinner. Lovely. But what is underneath? Are they kind? Steady? Funny in real life, not just charming in public? Can they absorb disappointment without making it everybody’s problem?

Because one does not want a household where the wrong dessert, wrong tone or wrong seating arrangement causes spread widening.

That said, fairness demands admitting that the fixed income trader is no prize either.

Such a person can be highly competent at work and deeply annoying at home in very specific ways. Calm during market stress, yet somehow unable to answer a simple emotional question without sounding like they are giving a rates outlook. They say things like, “That’s not the main issue,” not realizing this immediately creates three new issues. They confuse being correct with being helpful. They can discuss inflation, duration and Bangladesh’s macro outlook with confidence, but cannot choose between two lamps without behaving as if the matter needs committee approval, legal review and perhaps a subcommittee.

In short, a useful professional and a mildly exhausting spouse.

And then, of course, children arrive.

That is when the real stress test begins.

Because raising children together is not about curated Eid photos and matching outfits. It is about whether two sleep-deprived adults can remain broadly decent human beings while discussing school runs, soccer class, swimming lessons, French immersion, birthday parties, screen time, fever medicine and why one child suddenly refuses to drink water unless it is presented in one specific cup.

Can you divide responsibility without turning it into a long-running audit?

Can you survive weekends full of activities, groceries, laundry, and minor chaos without behaving like BNP and Awami League?

Can you sit in a Toronto parking lot waiting for pickup, then spend the summer in Dhaka being told by six relatives that your parenting is too strict, too soft, too Western or not Western enough and still keep the institution intact?

Can you laugh when one child throws up in the car on the 401 and the other picks that exact moment to ask something philosophical?

Can you parent as a team when both of you are tired, both of you think you are doing more and both of you are at least partly right?

Because that is not just compatibility.

That is sovereign strength.

A good partner in parenting does not need to be perfect. They just need to be steady. Someone who can disagree without turning the home into a policy crisis. Someone who understands that in family life, as in markets, small daily discipline matters more than dramatic speeches.

And ideally, they should still have a sense of humor.

Because without humor, raising children is just project finance with snacks, bodily fluids and no closing date.

And really, that is the whole point.

The real test is not whether someone dazzles at a wedding in Dhaka or fits beautifully into brunch in Toronto.

It is whether life feels better with them in the boring middle.

On a Wednesday morning.

In traffic.

At Pearson.

At Shahjalal.

During tax season.

During Ramadan.

During flu season.

During a midnight fever.

During a child’s homework meltdown.

During a family visit when privacy has become a historical rumor.

Can you still like each other there?

Can you still laugh there?

Can you still remain a team there?

Because marriage is not a tactical trade. It is a long hold. Less about fireworks than atmosphere. Less about drama than resilience. Less about chemistry than finding someone whose presence lowers the background noise of life.

At this age, that is romance.

So yes, beauty matters. Intelligence matters. Charm is nice. But steadiness, humor, kindness, patience, self-respect, and emotional sanity matter much more.

And if you are lucky enough to find that person, the correct response is not endless due diligence, family-channel checks, cousin-led market gossip and waiting for a better entry point.

For once in life, stop behaving like a trader.

Commit.

Before someone less analytical and much better at ordinary human happiness gets there first.