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‘I think it’s time for your first lesson,’ Zayan says, quiet enough that only I hear.
Confusion pulls me out of Heer and back into Farah. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘You said you wanted me to teach you, right?’
I want you to teach me everything you know about acting – on film and on stage. I want your knowledge. Train me. Make me better than I am.
I did say that, and now I’m kind of regretting it.
‘What’s the lesson?’ I ask, insecurity creeping into my voice.
Zayan’s eyes soften ever so slightly. ‘Every time you get a new role, you’re going to be afraid.’ I flinch, but his gaze pins me in place. ‘You’re going to doubt. But fear is just another part of acting. It’s something you learn to live with, something to use.’
My heart is thrumming in my chest in response to his words.
‘I know you thought you couldn’t do it, Farah. But what you just did there, the way you embodied the character – that’s something raw and dynamic. Something that should be polished and refined. You’re meant for the stage.’
The way he’s staring at me now makes me believe I can do anything in the world – I can fly up to the moon, cup it between my palms and take it home with me, as long as Zayan keeps looking at me like that. This is the only thing and everything I’ve ever wanted to hear. And to hear it from him means more than I thought it would.
‘The only real question is: how badly do you want to be an actress? Do you still want it, despite the fear?’ he whispers, and I think of him at his agent’s office. How deeply the rejections have carved into him – and yet, he’s still standing here. He’s going to extreme lengths to save his career.
His desperation matches my own, because there is nothing I want more than to be on stage. To prove the LSDCATS wrong. To be an actress one day.
I tilt my head closer to his, let a smile play on my lips and gaze up at him like we’re madly in love.
And, once again, the camera shutter goes off.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
On the first of October, Zayan Amin and I set the timer running on our fake relationship.
We’re standing in line at my all-time, hands-down favourite bubble tea store, Bubble-Me-Mine, and usually I’d be thrilled to be here. In fact, I recommended this place because of how much joy it usually brings me – it’s the place Amal, Maha and I go to whenever we want to celebrate something: a passing grade, a therapy session attended, a milestone reached.
I thought it would be the perfect place for our first date. We’d be photographed walking out of the store carrying a collection of drinks to take to The Tragedies for our meeting ahead of the first rehearsal tomorrow. It would be fun, a little mysterious – the perfect beginning.
But ever since I got here and found Zayan standing in line, we’ve been encased in this awkward silence. He’s had this Joker-like smile plastered on his face, and he keeps looking out of the window for something. He’s inattentive, twitchy and just plain weird. So very different from the boy who was calming my nerves on stage yesterday.
‘You look like I’m torturing you,’ Zayan hisses suddenly, and I jerk my gaze away from the list of drinks Nur has messaged me. The rest of The Tragedies are at the Limelight, waiting for our arrival. He looks fancier today, less laid back in his green turtleneck and tailored jeans. His hair’s been tamed too – or as controlled as it can be. ‘Smile a little.’
‘I think you’re doing enough smiling for the two of us,’ I murmur, a small frown taking shape instead. ‘Also, we don’t need to smile yet. We can fake it once we’re outside the cafe.’
Zayan throws me a look that screams about how dense I’m being. I shrug helplessly, looking around to see what it is that’s got him so agitated. A few people have begun to recognize Zayan, but no one has come up to ask for an autograph. I haven’t even heard a shout of ‘Hari Fairbanks!’ yet.
‘We’re being watched,’ Zayan says finally, and the corner of his fake smile drops to a flat line. ‘You do know that, don’t you?’
‘What?’ I ask.
‘Paid paparazzi, remember?’ he hisses, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. ‘Lacey tipped off some reporters to get a couple of good shots of us out today. Expect to be tomorrow’s front page. And it would be even better if you could smile, so the world doesn’t think I’m holding you hostage.’
‘I thought we’d only be photographed outside. Not in.’ I force a smile on to my lips, despite my cheeks burning in embarrassment. It is obvious now that he’s said it. There’s one guy sitting at a lone table, his camera angled towards us. I don’t know how I missed it. Pierre’s lesson about paparazzi, and how I needed to control my immediate response to them, surfaces in my mind. Zayan rubs a hand over his face, like he can scrub the negative emotion from it.
He speaks quietly again, trying not to be overheard by anyone as we wait for our turn to be served. ‘I’m sorry. I should’ve told you beforehand, and not just expected you to know.’ I look up to meet his eyes, and they’re shadowed with sincerity. ‘Paparazzi sometimes try to hide in plain sight to get a better shot. My life is very intentional, Farah. From the pictures I post to the coffee cups I’m holding to the brand of every article of clothing I wear … Everything about my life is carefully curated, and for that reason I’m aware of my surroundings at all times.’
As Zayan explains his way of life with an unaffected tone, my heart sinks. Not in disappointment, but in pity. He says it so easily, but it sounds hard – to live your life like it’s a museum for others to visit. I love acting, but there’s a relief in knowing once I’m off the stage I’m allowed to feel what I want to feel.
‘But isn’t that lonely?’ I blurt out, my thoughts loosening my tongue.
Zayan’s lips flatline into a frown.
