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‘Please,’ I beg, my heart throbbing in my chest. The whispers around the library are so loud now. The three girls have whipped their phones out, and I just know they’re twisting this story into something else.
Unsuitable.
White-passing. Paki.
Not. Good. Enough.
Suddenly, all I can hear is their giggles. It pulses in my eardrums, light and mocking.
‘Farah,’ Gibitah says, urgently grasping the sleeve of my kurti. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I n-need to go,’ I gasp out, pushing myself away from the table. Something clatters on to the floor from the strength of my abrupt movements, and it feels as if every gaze in the library lands on me.
I love the spotlight – intensely, wholly – but at this moment, I want nothing more than to be in shadow. Hidden from everyone. I spare one glance at Gibitah, her expression confused and concerned, before fleeing the library, my fear leading me to the one place I know I belong.
@CelebNews: From a live inside source, we’ve just got wind of some sort of meltdown from @FarahSheikh – she was seen fleeing her university library for some unknown reason. Outlets are speculating the possibility of drugs, a break-up with @ZayanAmin or just your general teen melodrama.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
‘Are you sure you’re OK, child?’ Marvin asks, as the key slips from its slot twice. ‘You’re looking very pale and clammy. You’re not planning on throwing up, are you? I would very much appreciate it if you made it to the bathroom instead.’
‘I’m f-fine,’ I say, my breath still coming in bursts.
Just get to the stage. Just get to the stage. Just get to the stage.
I would’ve gone home, I would’ve gone straight to Amal and Maha, but I can’t, because they don’t know the truth. So I can’t let them see me like this, no matter how lonely and heartbroken I feel. Instead, I’m going to the only other place that feels safe – where I’ve always felt safe.
‘All right, doors are open –’
I sidle past Marvin, making sure the door closes on his suspicious-looking face. My eyes are burning with tears as I struggle to find the stage in the dark. I haven’t spent enough time with the tech crew to work out how to get the lights on.
Just get to the stage.
I eventually stumble on to the stage, my knees hitting the wooden floorboards. Pain explodes down my legs as I brace my arms for the fall. Still cloaked by darkness, I clamp my mouth to stop myself from yelling out. I don’t want Marvin coming in and seeing me like this.
I don’t want anyone to see me like this.
Why didn’t you say anything? Why? Why? Why?
I eventually fall into a sitting position, hugging my jean-clad knees to my body. There will be purple bruises marring my kneecaps tomorrow, but for now the pain has begun to fade into a dull ache. My bag is thrown beside me, with the script for the play in it. I could take it out. Use my phone flashlight to read it again. Say some lines. The feeling of being on stage wants to fall over my shoulders like a warm, comforting overcoat – beckoning me to step out of my skin and into Heer’s. I consider it, resting my forehead against my knees, but the memory of what’s just happened refuses to leave me alone.
Why did you run away? What if someone took a picture of you? What would they say about you – about Zayan?
On my third cycle of the same thoughts, replaying the same scenario, I feel a warm heat blossoming over my neck and a hand brushing against mine. My head jerks up, my eyes quickly adjusting to the loss of darkness because of the spotlight being switched on. It’s bathing both myself and Zayan in a circle of light.
His brown eyes are coloured with concern, there’s a crease between his eyebrows and his full lips are turned into a worried line. His thumb brushes against the top of my palm, and something about that simple, comforting, movement releases the dam of tears I was holding back.
‘Oh, sweetheart,’ he whispers, and before I know it he’s wrapped me up in a hug. An odd hug, considering I’ve still got my knees up to my chest, but I feel a sense of safety nonetheless.
‘H-how did you find me here?’ I ask eventually, when my sobs have quieted down. I pull away to look at him. ‘Zayan?’
He sighs, his arms dropping as he moves to sit cross-legged in front of me. ‘There were tweets about your leaving the library, and I had a feeling you’d come here. Marvin all but confirmed it when he let me in.’
A new set of tears wets my lashes, and guilt burns a hole in my chest. ‘I’m so sorry. For the pictures, for running out, for everything.’
Zayan’s hands grab my own as panic wedges in between my lungs, growing as my mind conjures up scenarios of Lacey telling Zayan to cut off all contact with me.
Then the fear returns, and I can’t hold back my questions – no matter how harsh they sound when spoken aloud.
