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‘What do you mean?’ I’m confused, my mind still muddled from the entire ordeal.
‘Usually, when we go out for dates, Lacey has a tight leash on the paparazzi. But I didn’t consult her for this one. I’m sorry, Farah. I didn’t mean for you to face that.’
‘Wait, is this what you face?’
Zayan nods, jaw locked. ‘Yeah, but I’m used to it. You aren’t. I should’ve been more –’
‘It’s OK,’ I interrupt, placing a hand on his arm to stop the protectiveness in its tracks. He throws me a grateful smile, guilt still lingering in his eyes.
‘Do you – do you get heckled by them a lot?’ I ask, thinking back to how the paparazzi were shouting about my outfit, about Laiba and probably about more that was lost in the chaos.
‘Well, I’ve had them rip apart everything from the clothes I’m wearing to my friendships and my parents,’ he offers nonchalantly. At my horrified look, he continues hastily. ‘But you become thick-skinned. They’re just trying to get a reaction out of you. You handled yourself well for your first time. The first of many, knowing how big you’re going to become.’
‘I don’t know if that’s supposed to make me feel good or not,’ I say, worried. ‘I want to be an actress, but I keep forgetting that all of this comes with the job. The paparazzi, the lack of privacy, the constant worry.’
Zayan hums in agreement, his eyes on the road. ‘You’re right. But there are things to make it easier.’
‘Really?’ I ask. ‘Like what?’
‘Privacy has to look different when you gain fame, but the best thing you can do is build a circle you trust. Find people who have your back, who will book restaurants using a fake name, who don’t mind staying in instead of going out. Friends who keep your secrets.’ He glances over at me, a slight smile on his face. ‘And you’ve got me in your circle. We’re going to survive this industry together, Farah.’
I paste a shaky smile on to my face, my heart still drumming in my chest. Two emotions war inside me – the ambitious, hungry side of me is delighted that Zayan sees a future where I’m in the industry at his level, and the other side of me doesn’t feel like I’ll ever be good enough and is terrified of letting him down.
Him, The Tragedies, everyone who’s rooting for our play. What if I don’t live up to their expectations? What if I can’t survive?
‘Farah?’ Zayan’s elbow gently touching mine pulls me back into the present.
‘Yes, sorry – I was just spacing out,’ I reply quickly. ‘What were you saying?’
‘I was asking if you were hungry.’
My stomach starts to rumble loudly in response. ‘I’m starving. Want to get Chicken Cottage? I’m kind of craving a BBQ burger.’
Zayan throws a grin my way. ‘I was hoping you’d say that.’
We end up outside a quiet Chicken Cottage we’re way overdressed for. As we walk in a few people recognize us, but it’s so late that no one comes up to ask anything. We grab our order and sit in the car park to eat it. It’s pretty empty, so we take our boxes and lean against the bonnet of the car. Zayan drapes his jacket over my shoulders.
‘So chivalrous,’ I tease, and he bumps me with his shoulder, before returning to his burger. I’m about to bite into mine when the memory of his fingertips on my wrist steals into my thoughts once more.
I suddenly feel unbearably shy beside Zayan, unsure whether I should bring it up or not.
He notices my growing silence and gives me an analytical look. ‘Is something wrong? Are you still feeling rattled from the photographers?’
‘I …’ I trail off.
In the end, instead of saying anything, I take the coward’s way out and turn away from him to take a massive bite out of my burger. I don’t anticipate just how much I’ve bitten off until I feel my cheeks bulge and I’m chewing desperately fast.
Zayan laughs quietly, his eyes dancing with amusement. ‘Someone clearly loves a BBQ burger.’
I give him a thumbs up, because my mouth is still full. His gaze softens at the sight of me, and then he’s leaning closer. Zayan’s hand rises to my face, his thumb sweeping against the corner of my lip to wipe away a stray sesame seed. I swallow, finally, my mouth feeling dry, my body wound tight with tension. His hand drops, but he turns to look at me, and the full brunt of his gaze – the fierce emotion in his eyes – makes my breath catch.
‘Did I tell you that you look beautiful tonight?’ he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. ‘Because if I didn’t I’m an idiot.’
‘I think you mentioned something about the stars,’ I mumble, unsure where this is going.
‘You’re so stunning, Farah. I’m not sure I even have the right words to tell you how brilliant you are,’ Zayan says, like it’s a declaration. A fact. And this feels like so much more than a throwaway compliment.
This feels like we’re standing on the line, waiting for one of us to cross it.
