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‘Like a peach?’ Anushka mimics. ‘Seriously, are you a hundred years old or something?’
‘It’s a very common phrase,’ David says defensively, and I can see him gearing up for a squabble.
Thankfully, Nur interjects. ‘OK, let’s agree to disagree and get this photo shoot started.’ Her eyes turn to me, a devilish smile on her lips. ‘And you, Farah Sheikh – meet me in the dressing room.’
Zayan and I stand on the stage, him dressed in a fitted off-white shalwar kameez and a sage-green waistcoat that sits snugly across his chest, and me in a lavender lehenga that’s been embroidered with silver patterns. When I first stepped on to the stage in costume, it felt magical. Nur has outdone herself, considering she’s had a week to get this together. Anushka and David were awed by the outfit. Even Zayan’s eyes had widened with appreciation.
‘OK!’ the photographer, Jazz, says loudly. ‘I think we have a game plan. I want to have a couple of simple shots of the two of you together. Nothing too complicated. How about we start with Zayan standing behind Farah, looking down at her with a look of love in his eyes, and, Farah, you stare straight ahead at the camera with a coy look in your eyes, OK?’
My first instinct is to say no. The thought of Zayan standing that close to me, looking down at me with anything other than irritation, makes my chest tighten.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want a real relationship with Zayan – he’s made it very clear that everything he does with me will be faked, and I have no time for emotionally unavailable men – but it’s hard not to instinctively react to how attractive he is. If he had some flaws that would have helped, but everything about him is near perfect. The faint dimples in his cheeks, the way his hair curls just right, the way he fills out everything he wears like it’s a second skin … does this guy even know what ‘baggy’ means?
‘Farah?’ Anushka asks, concern leaking from her voice.
I can feel Zayan’s eyes on me, and I imagine his gaze is taunting, his ego inflating with every second of my silence.
I knew you would complicate this. You can’t handle being around me.
‘Yes,’ I say quickly, pressing a smile to my lips. Anushka’s eyes narrow, but she doesn’t say anything. The crew becomes a chaos of noise, getting into position, and I flutter nervously, trying to work out where I should go.
Zayan has no questions about where to move. He falls into place behind me, his chin ghosting the crook of my neck, his eyes gazing forward at the camera. I find myself slotting into place as well, my hands lacing over my stomach, my expression smoothing into a look of affection. I stare at the camera, at Jazz, at David, at Anushka, at the four-person photography crew. They all look enraptured, delighted, like an audience watching a play.
And that’s when it hits me.
This is happening. This is really, really happening. We’re taking promotional photos for a play that I’m going to star in. Beside an Emmy Award-winning actor. I’m going to be on stage once more. But instead of feeling joy at this thought, I find that from the deepest, darkest depths of my mind a voice unearths itself. Henry. The director from the LSDCATS.
Unsuitable.
My entire body stiffens, like I’ve turned into stone. Jazz pauses, stops taking pictures. Zayan’s gaze lifts to my face, analysing whatever emotion must be displayed so plainly across it.
‘Is everything OK?’ Jazz asks.
I open my mouth to say that it’s nothing. To take a deep breath and let myself treat this like an acting exercise. Except I’m finally realizing what I’ve agreed to. Before, I was running on adrenaline, on confidence, on the desperate need to get back on stage. But now that I’m here, about to act, I’m filled with bone-deep terror that I’ve made a mistake.
That I’m not good enough to be doing this.
‘Farah?’ Zayan murmurs in my ear.
‘I can’t – this is all too real,’ I whisper. White spots from the bright lights dance across my vision. ‘We haven’t announced your involvement yet – it’s not too late to stop –’
‘Maybe we could try a different pose?’ Zayan interrupts me, turning his attention to Jazz. He’s the epitome of calm professionalism. ‘We could act out a scene, and you could get some natural shots.’
‘Uh, sure,’ Jazz says, eyeing me uncertainly, ‘if that’s OK with you, Farah?’
I don’t want to act out a scene. In fact, this might be the only time I want to flee the stage. And I hate that. I never would have felt this way if the LSDCATS audition hadn’t happened. But it did happen, and I need to do something to stop Henry’s words taunting me on a loop.
‘Which scene?’ I ask, my voice sounding faraway to my own ears.
‘Just follow my lead,’ Zayan says, his hands clasping my arms to force me to look at him.
His eyes are shaded by the lights, and his face is drawn with serious lines and something akin to understanding.
‘Tell me, Heer, do the stars bewitch you?’ The sound of Zayan’s voice pulls me into the scene – all deep and angry. When I look at him, I see Ranjha in his place. My forbidden love. Not the irritating, good-looking boy I sometimes want to punch in the throat. The sight of him taking this seriously shifts something in my mind. ‘Do they make you believe that my love for you is unreal? Unimaginable? Untouch—’
‘Don’t patronize me,’ I interrupt in a half whisper, as if palace guards could be listening at any moment. ‘You have the privilege to feel more. To feel everything so plainly. So blatantly. Duty doesn’t weigh on your shoulders. Not like it does on mine. So, yes, I stare at the stars instead of you. Because if I shifted my focus –’ I move closer to Zayan, my gaze sliding over his face like I’m trying to commit his every feature to memory – ‘I’d never stop looking. I’d spend hour upon hour memorizing the lines of your face.’ I reach out like I’m going to trace the sharpness of his cheekbone. The doubts I felt before are faded, belonging to an entirely different girl. Only Heer remains.
Zayan’s hand raises to meet mine, before clenching shut in agony because our characters are forbidden from one another. I’m so lost in the scene, but in the distance, I hear the camera shutter going off. I wait for him to say his next line, but he surprises me instead.
