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‘Just ask the question, Farah,’ Zayan replies, but I hear a note of amusement in his voice as well.
I pause for a moment, thinking over my options. I could ask him about his hopes, his dreams, everything in between, but there are really just two things everyone in the world wants to know about Zayan Amin: why did he and Laiba break up, and why did he do that TV series?
They’re also the two questions everyone is too afraid to ask him straight to his face. Or, rather, they’re the two questions no one is allowed to ask him.
In the end, I pick the one that I think will tell me more about the enigma that is Zayan Amin, leaving the other mystery to be solved at a later date.
‘Why did you take that TV-series role?’ His shocked intake of breath spurs me on, forcing me to keep talking. ‘The Fairbanks was such a hit, and after meeting Lacey, I’m sure you pick projects that will clearly benefit your career. It just seems a little strange to me. You’re a good actor –’
‘Wow, such high praise,’ Zayan mumbles lightly.
I sigh. ‘OK, you want the truth? You’re brilliant. Hari Fairbanks was my childhood favourite. You’re probably one of the reasons I wanted to become an actor. So tell me: why’d you sign up for that TV series? What was the thought process?’
‘Do you know how many movies I’ve done over the course of my career?’ Zayan questions, his tone edged with something sharp now.
‘Uh … not off the top of my head,’ I lie, because I will not inflate his ego and tell him that I’ve watched all of his films.
‘Eleven. I’ve done eleven movies. I’ve been acting since I was two years old. And despite doing eleven movies, I’m always known as one specific character.’
‘Hari Fairbanks,’ I reply quietly.
‘Hari Fairbanks,’ Zayan echoes. ‘And I don’t want to sound ungrateful. The Fairbanks put me on the map; it made it possible for me to do those movies. But when casting agents and directors would reach out to Lacey, they’d give me roles that resembled Hari. The good kid. The loveable sidekick. It was one role, all the time. So when I learned that The Fairbanks was ending, I knew this was my chance to make my mark. To be more than just the cute kid on a sitcom, or in a movie. There was so much chaos during that time. Calls with Lacey trying to work out where we’d land my career, what avenue we should go down. Comedy? Drama? How serious an actor was I?’ He pauses before sighing deeply. ‘And that’s when Shawn Jetts approached me.’
‘Shawn Jetts – the director?’ I clarify.
‘The one and only,’ he replies, and this time, the bitterness in his voice is unmistakable. ‘He took me out for dinners, introduced me to all the big names in Hollywood, proudly boasting that I was ready to make this great big change. That the industry should watch out for me. And he would fill my head with these dreams of being the lead in a new show. He told me I’d get creative licence to finally do what I liked. I didn’t need to be in the restraints of Hari Fairbanks any more.’ He pauses, and I hear a beat of rustling movement. I imagine Zayan sitting upright in his bed, indignant now. ‘When he finally offered the role, I didn’t even ask to look at the script. I just signed my name. I didn’t give Lacey time to double-check anything. I was so desperate for the chance; I was afraid it would all vanish if I didn’t work fast enough. It was only when I’d signed the contract that I got the script. And then I realized why I’d been approached.’
‘And why was that?’ I ask, curiosity pushing me forward.
His tone is as bitter as a lemon, so sour that my own lips pucker. ‘To play a stereotype. They wanted a show about the brown boy who hates every part of himself and desperately wants to be white. It was humiliating to be part of that, and it felt …’ He pauses, and I wait, heart aching in my chest. ‘It felt like I’d betrayed who I am. And my fans saw that. Rightly so. But it hurt more to know that they thought I didn’t care. That I was OK with these stereotypes. But I wasn’t. I’m not. That’s why doing this play is so important. This is my chance to save my reputation, yes, but also to fix my mistakes. You were right when you told me why we should do Heer Ranjha. You were right when you said it’s sad that I’ve ignored my culture for so long. I don’t want the world thinking I hate who I am. That I’ve forgotten who I am.’
A freight train of realization slams into my senses. He is a boy who misses home. Even if he won’t admit it. A boy who hasn’t had a taste of family in a long time. A boy who had to give it all up – and no matter if he says it was his choice, to a degree it wasn’t. He did it to survive an industry that stacked the odds against him.
‘How long has it been since you’ve been ho—’ I falter and cut myself off, treading the waters of Zayan’s past carefully, knowing one wrong move could shut him down. ‘How long since you’ve been back in Karachi?’
He shrugs. ‘The last time I was in Karachi, I was thirteen.’
Five years ago?
‘I went there to visit my grandparents after winning my first Emmy. Then I went back to the US, and I was lucky to have family living there, so I stayed with them – the only perk of having extended family,’ he jokes.
I crack a smile, even as a well of empathy fills up in my heart. ‘Your parents didn’t follow you?’
‘They did, until I hit my teens and it became clear I wasn’t going to be living in one place. They asked if I wanted to do this alone. And I did. Plus, I had Lacey and security, and collectively they never let me run wild. Ever. I mean, I’ve always got two people outside my door or in my car in case a rogue fan slips in.’ His tone shifts to something a little softer. ‘It was lonely sometimes, but I think it’s important to learn how to be happy with your own company.’
In a way, I understand what he means. I’ve been around my family and friends my whole life, but since coming here, I’ve become accustomed to dealing with acute loneliness, the kind that occurs when you’re still around people. In Zayan’s case, he seems to have learned how to deal with that, but I haven’t. I find it stifling. I find myself craving friendships to fill the hole I’ve got gaping in my chest.
Overwhelmed with sudden emotion, I have nothing to add. The silence between us is heavy with memories, with feelings I don’t want to have, with questions and answers that are like knives pressing against soft skin.
I hear him swallow roughly. ‘I think it’s my turn to ask a question.’
I let him change the subject, steadying myself against the headboard I’m now pressed up against. I know it’s a long shot, but I desperately, painfully hope he doesn’t ask about my LSDCATS audition. I’m not sure I could give him the truth.
‘Shoot,’ I say, masking the nerves in my voice.
‘Why are you doing this?’ Zayan asks. ‘Why are you so desperate to be on stage? What is it about being on stage that has you agreeing to be in a fake relationship with a guy you don’t know?’
The twisted fear and anticipation I had over his potential question dissipates.
