AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Fear creeps into the ache in my chest, a coldness sweeping through me. I think of the LSDCATS again, and the word ‘unsuitable’ echoes in my thoughts like a tape recorder that refuses to stop. That feeling of not being good enough, not for the stage, not for my professors, not for my friends, rises in me like a tide.
The sound of my phone ringing is a life jacket I didn’t know I needed. I swipe to accept the call with little thought of who it may be.
‘I thought I’d change it up a little.’ Zayan’s voice is warm and scratchy down the line – as if he’s woken up earlier than usual. ‘Me calling you, instead of you calling me.’
I swallow against the stone that’s lodged itself in my throat; my eyes are still trained on the comment.
‘Farah?’ Zayan asks, and I can vividly see the concerned furrow squished between his brows. ‘You OK?’
I imagine reading the comment aloud. Zayan would tell me, with complete and utter honesty, if my worries were right. He wouldn’t hold back. He’d see the truth as a way for me to improve, a motivator. But hearing him say it – They’re right. You’re good, but you’re not enough. Not yet – would press too sharply against the tenderness of my heart. For now, I’ll envision him saying it, and I’ll internalize it without his help. I can do it. I can work harder. Prove people wrong. I can be enough.
I clear my throat before responding. ‘Yeah, yeah. Everything’s fine.’ And before the awkward silence solidifies between us, I ask him about his night. ‘What were you up to?’
‘Up to?’
‘Before you called. Were you sleeping?’
The idea of Zayan specifically waking up to call me makes something hot and molten erupt in my chest – the idea that someone would knit me into their life in such an integral way.
‘I wasn’t, actually.’ My chest cools; the momentary lapse passes. ‘I was – I was rereading reviews.’
‘Reviews?’ I question, while nestling into my pillows. I close my laptop, hiding away the results, and focus on Zayan instead of the whirlpool brewing in my head.
‘Yeah, reviews from critics.’
I wince. ‘That doesn’t sound like a good idea.’
Zayan huffs out a laugh, a genuine-sounding one. ‘You’re right. A lot of them are saying I’m past my prime – that I’m “destined to be a Hari Fairbanks and nothing more”.’
His haughty change in tone has me laughing a little, but I can’t ignore the undertone of bitterness in his voice.
‘You know that’s not true, right?’
He pauses before replying. ‘Rationally, yes. Irrationally, at 3 a.m., I’ll admit I had a bit of a crisis.’
‘Zayan, you’re a good actor.’
‘I know,’ he says, and it takes all my strength not to scoff at him. ‘This isn’t about my talent. If I thought I couldn’t act, I wouldn’t put you or me through this. I think …’ He exhales sharply. ‘I think I’m more angry than analytical right now.’
‘You’re angry at yourself?’
‘At them.’ Zayan’s rage becomes more evident as he continues. ‘At the public. At the reviewers. I know that TV show was awful, but it was a mistake. And no one wants to hear my side of the story – they’ve chosen a label for me, and I’m supposed to just live with it. It’s like they’ve forgotten how much of myself I’ve given to this industry.’
I swallow roughly – Zayan doesn’t need me to be angry for him; he knows I am. He needs a way to see beyond the rage, the hurt.
‘But you’re getting auditions now, aren’t you?’ I ask.
‘Yeah, I am. And I like the roles. They’re good. The scripts are intelligent. A lot of them are romances, and I owe that to you.’ His voice softens. ‘I owe anything I’m getting to you, Farah. But I worry that I’m going to do it all over again – the sacrifice, the effort, the emotional bloodshed – but this time … this time I can’t be sure it’ll be worth it.’
‘Even if they treat you like that again, you can’t justify giving everything up,’ I echo. ‘You don’t want the same regrets.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Then don’t give everything up,’ I say suddenly.
‘It’s not that easy, Farah,’ Zayan sighs, worn and weary.
I hate it. I hate that tone. I would do anything to change it.
