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Zayan’s gaze turns hard. ‘No. You don’t really know someone until you get rich and famous. People change a lot faster when you’ve got coins lining your pockets. And we don’t want anything leaking to the press.’
‘My friends aren’t like that!’ I protest. His mouth twists, like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how to. ‘Fine, I won’t tell them.’ I gesture between the two of us. ‘But I’m not sure they’re going to like this.’
‘But I’m a catch,’ Zayan replies with more exaggeration than necessary. I barely hold back a scoff.
Though I don’t want my friends to worry, I need this counterfeit relationship. It’s my chance to be on stage, and I can’t risk losing that opportunity again. It’ll be fine. I’ll figure out something to tell Amal and Maha.
‘So, we agree?’ I say, slightly dumbfounded. Everything with Zayan up till now has felt like a push and pull. To be on the same page about something … well, it feels nice.
He gives me a firm nod and sticks out his hand. ‘We should shake on it. Make it official.’
I look down at it, instantly reminded of a line from Romeo and Juliet.
And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.
I press our palms together, my lines meeting his, and our fate is sealed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Maha holds up her phone with the picture of Zayan and me on it, like it’s Exhibit A in her case against me. Beside her, Amal and Owais – Maha’s cousin, my friend, Amal’s someone more, who also came from Rocate High – are curled next to each other, knees touching, arms brushing, always connected.
When they all returned to the flat, after Zayan left, they didn’t say anything. They simply went to the couch, sat down and made me sit opposite them, and then Maha showed me that photo.
They all wait patiently, while I avoid making direct eye contact. In the silence, I steal a look at Amal and Owais.
My friendship with Amal grew slowly over time; her trust issues made it hard, but we found one another last year. Out of all of them, she looks the most concerned. Her brown eyes are glinting with questions, but she holds them back and waits for me to speak. Beside her, Owais is watching me with equal calculation and concern. It’s hard to imagine that they hated each other only a year ago – that they were rivals, back at Rocate High, who were forced to work together for a debate competition that changed their lives. Especially since they now fit together perfectly, like puzzle pieces. They both watch me with intense stares that scream, YOU CAN TELL US THE TRUTH.
I hate lying to them, but I have to. I force myself to remember why I’m doing this. For the stage. For The Tragedies. To prove ourselves.
‘So,’ I start, finally looking up from my hands, ‘as you can see, I met Zayan Amin.’
The admission tastes bitter against the roof of my mouth.
‘How?’ Maha asks, shock written plainly across her face. ‘Where did you even find him?’
I swallow tightly, avoiding Amal’s eyes. ‘You know The Tragedies?’
‘Those students who are forming their own play?’ Owais asks.
I nod. ‘Well, I’m sort of involved in it.’
‘Involved?’ Maha’s tone turns curious.
‘I wrote the Tumblr post,’ I admit, attempting to stay as close to the truth as possible. ‘I wrote it after meeting with some of the other members of The Tragedies at an audition. I was outraged by what the LSDCATS had done, and then the post went viral, and Zayan’s agent reached out to meet. She was hoping to get Zayan involved in the play, which he is now. We really hit it off, but nothing is official yet.’
I choose not to tell my friends the detail of my own failed audition; I’m embarrassed at the thought of them knowing I wasn’t good enough, worried that they’d tell me I overreacted.
‘Farah, what are you going to tell your parents?’ Maha asks, leaning closer to me.
‘If they ask, I’ll tell them Zayan’s just a friend. They know I’m not planning on finding anyone unless it’s a forever type of thing,’ I say, hoping my nervous energy translates as giddiness rather than guilt.
‘You’re in a situationship with Zayan Amin,’ Maha breathes out, excitement replacing her anger. ‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell us all this before!’
I shrug, still avoiding Amal’s eyes. ‘I was going to, but it all happened really fast. Honestly.’
Liar. Liar. Liar.
‘Whatever. What’s he like?’ Owais asks eagerly. ‘Is he just like Hari Fairbanks?’
