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‘Yes, it is. You’ve given this industry so much. You’ve given up things to fit in, and you stumbled one time, and it was this same industry that turned its back on you. That watched you struggle and did nothing to help. Now, I’m not saying you should throw in the towel and give up acting, but I am saying that maybe it’s time you protected yourself. Maybe it’s time to be picky, to not sacrifice parts of your identity. Maybe it’s time to create your own space in this industry.’
‘And if people don’t like it?’
‘Zayan, if directors, casting agents, producers want you – all of you, every part of you – they won’t hesitate. And you’ll know they want you for nothing but your talent. And that is worth more than being picked for the girl on your arm.’
‘You’re more than a girl on my arm,’ Zayan insists indignantly. ‘And image is important.’
I ignore the first part. ‘You’re right. It is important. But you’ve built up your reputation since you were a kid. You’re in a fake relationship to salvage what you’ve worked so hard to craft over the years! I’m just saying, maybe it’s time to pick the role that’s made for you. The movie role that may not have the biggest pay-off, the contract that doesn’t include a clause forcing you to become someone you aren’t.’
I know Zayan won’t make his decision now, that he won’t suddenly decide to shed years of trying to fit into Hollywood in exchange for his roots and his culture, but I hope this could be the start – the beginning for him to see that he could have it both ways. I know he could.
‘Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s time to regain some of that sacrifice I’ve made,’ he concedes gently, and the firmness in his voice says, This is the end of this conversation.
I gear up to say goodbye, to give myself back to my thoughts, my worries, but Zayan interrupts me with a question.
‘What were you doing?’
‘Huh?’
‘Before I called, what were you doing?’
The little white lie slips too easily past my lips, even as a part of me wishes to tell Zayan the truth. But the truth isn’t worth damaging the new friendship we have forming; it isn’t worth burdening him. ‘I just … I was watching this YouTube documentary and got caught up for a second.’
‘BuzzFeed Unsolved?’
I smile because my lie was buried in a truth. I do love watching BuzzFeed Unsolved, and I like that Zayan guessed that.
‘Yeah, it’s an all-time favourite of mine,’ I reply, while tucking myself deeper under the blankets.
‘Do you have other favourites?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, we’re friends now. Right?’
Before, I wouldn’t have heard the vulnerability under the layers of his tone. I do now.
‘Yeah, Zayan,’ I say, softly but firmly. Not just for him, but for myself too. ‘We’re friends.’
‘So, friends should know things about one another. Tell me more about Farah Sheikh and the things she loves.’
I laugh, and that sharp pain from before weakens. ‘Only if the great Zayan Amin shares the same with me.’
‘Deal. Favourite colour? Mine’s green.’
‘Indigo. Favourite musical?’
‘Arguably the best musical: Hadestown.’
‘What? Absolutely not. What about The Phantom of the Opera?’
‘I’ve never seen it,’ Zayan replies.
‘Me neither.’ A note of wistfulness enters my voice, and the pain I felt before folds, until it’s nothing more than a memory of a feeling. ‘But I’ve always wanted to see it. I’ve only watched YouTube videos of it.’
‘I still think Hadestown might be the best.’
‘You’re delusional.’
