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It’s the logo of the Pakistani Society at my university, which means this girl goes there too. Nerves tug at the pit of my stomach as I remember my failed attempts at making friends with people from my classes. I did try in the beginning, when I first arrived in London, but the people I met either wanted to go out for drinks – I don’t drink – or they looked at me with a slightly wounded expression in their eyes. They asked questions like What was it like living, y’know, there? You must’ve been so happy to leave!
Not the best way to start a friendship, really.
‘Are you going to just stare at her?’ Zayan interrupts my swirling worry. I roll my eyes, irritated but motivated by his annoying prodding. I kick his ankles, forcing him to tuck his legs in so I can move out of the row.
My shoulders tense as I approach the girl, my mind working overtime to convince myself that this isn’t going to go badly.
‘Hi,’ I say, my voice faltering at the edges.
The girl straightens from crouching over her bag, hand clasped round a tube of hand cream. Our gazes meet and her eyes betray nothing. No surprise. No warmth. Just a beige sort of neutrality. ‘Hi,’ she replies.
‘We sort of just got thrown into this rehearsal, but I wanted to introduce myself more formally because we’re going to be doing so many scenes together,’ I continue, watching as she unscrews the cap and places a dollop of pear-scented cream on the back of her hands. ‘I’m Farah.’
‘Right, I’m Gibitah,’ she replies easily. ‘I can’t wait till we’re in costume. I heard Nur Hadi is designing them. I stalk her Instagram all the time – she has the best “outfits of the day”.’
‘Yeah!’ I say enthusiastically. We’ve already found common ground. ‘She’s pretty amazing. I always feel underdressed standing next to her.’
Gibitah smiles, and I feel like I’ve just won a marathon. My heartbeat slows to normal, and I feel myself getting comfortable.
Then a look of mild surprise appears over Gibitah’s features, and she sheepishly offers me the tube of hand cream. ‘I’m sorry, I completely forgot to ask if you wanted some. I’m just standing here, moisturizing away.’
I laugh and take the proffered tube, squeezing just a little out. ‘No worries. Honestly, the weather has been so awful lately. The cold has made my skin even paler; I miss when I had a 24-7 tan from the sun back home.’
My tone is light, jokey, possibly self-deprecating. Or at least I thought it was. Gibitah’s silence rattles me, and I turn my attention from rubbing circles over my hands to her. There’s a sharpness in her face that wasn’t there before. A guardedness that puts me on edge.
It all turns worse when Gibitah lets out a rough, delayed laugh. ‘It must be nice to have such problems.’
Warmth travels from my cheeks down my neck and across my chest. ‘I’m sorry, I just wanted to commiserate on how cold it is – I wasn’t … I didn’t mean …’ I stumble on my words, not knowing what to say.
Mercifully, Gibitah cuts me off. ‘Look, I’m sure you weren’t. But I really don’t need another light-skinned Pakistani friend complaining about their struggles with being too pale. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a bus to catch.’
And with those parting words, Gibitah exits the Limelight – leaving me with a tube of pear-scented hand cream and a cavernous hole of regret growing in my chest.
I walk back to where Zayan is sitting. Just he and I are left in the theatre. And Marvin, who is standing by the stage doors expectantly.
As I approach Zayan, the words leave my lips in a whisper. ‘That went terribly.’
Zayan, in response, doesn’t look up from his phone. His mouth is pinched in a sharp line, his brows scrunched together in obvious displeasure.
‘Aren’t you going to ask me why?’ I say, my voice turning a little hysterical. But still, he doesn’t look up from his phone. Dread pools in my stomach, and my heart starts racing with anticipation.
‘What is it?’ I demand, holding myself back from snatching the phone out of his hand.
‘It’s the LSDCATS,’ Zayan says, finally looking at me, his tone entirely too grim. ‘They just launched their second attack.’
@TheLSDCATS: After many weeks of auditions, we’re elated to announce our cast list for this year’s rendition of Romeo and Juliet. As we’re sure you all know, rumours have been flying around about the intentions of this institution, but we’re here to say: there’s always more going on behind the curtain in theatre, and it’s a tragedy that people can’t see that. We’re sure that you all will be super excited by this brand-new cast, and we can’t wait to see you all filling up our seats!
Posted: 9 October 2021
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘Are you really going to stare at the LSDCATS’ cast list all night?’ Amal asks, from where she’s stretched out on my bed, surrounded by scattered books and the Heer Ranjha script she’s been reading.
‘I was meant to be working on my essay. It’s due tomorrow at 9 a.m., and I don’t think the professor is going to give me another extension,’ I reply, shutting my laptop with a delicate snap. ‘But, honestly, I can’t stop thinking about the list.’
Amal turns to lie on her side, her head propped up by her hand. ‘Why is it bothering you so much?’
‘I don’t know,’ I moan, irritated at myself for feeling so obsessive about it. ‘Ever since I saw the cast names, it’s been bugging me.’
