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Zayan’s sentence goes unfinished, but it lingers in my mind, like smoke that refuses to dissipate. The rest of the group moves around Nur’s phone, but Zayan and I stay locked in place.
@LaibaSiddiqi: I don’t speak on rumours, but I would like to say that I am not involved in @TheLSDCATS play.
‘I know we kind of hate her now for what she did to you,’ Anushka says to Zayan, ‘but that reply was pretty classy. The LSDCATS’ socials are filling up with hate from your fans and her fans. No one is on their side any more.’
Zayan rolls his eyes. ‘You know I did the exact same thing with my tweet, right?’
‘Yeah, but, you know, girl power,’ Gibitah offers.
‘Whatever,’ Zayan huffs, before turning his attention back to me. ‘Not that standing here and sharing all my previous relationship trauma isn’t a pure delight, but we do have a gala to get to. You ready?’
There’s so much I want to say, want to ask, want to voice.
Why aren’t you hung up on Laiba any more – what’s stopping you?
But of course I don’t say that. I fall back on the silence I’ve become accustomed to wielding, pasting on a smile and stepping into the comfortable lie of our relationship.
@TheLSDCATS: We would like to formally state that under no circumstances was our institution involved in any negative conversation surrounding the leads of The Tragedies. We look forward to seeing you all on opening night!
@ZarahForever: You guys SUCK. I bet you thought you were super slick, trying to destroy Zarah.
@LaibaLover8: @ZarahForever You’re so right!! They’re so shady. I’m not going to see their play.
@CallMeZarah: 100% you guys are lying, and I’m getting a refund on my ticket.
@ComedyIsTragedy: The only way I’m NOT going to @TheTragedies play is if they cancel it. I can’t see why anyone would want to watch a play by this shady institution.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The Soho Gala is essentially a glorified charity event, where directors, screenwriters and actors – aspiring and well-established ones – come together to splurge on drinks and donate money. On the bright side, it’s being held at the Underglobe – a venue hidden beneath Shakespeare’s Globe.
‘This place is stunning,’ I say, eyes roaming over the room, arm tucked into Zayan’s.
The theme for the night is The Tempest, and the details of the décor are meticulous. The staircase has been transformed into glittering makeshift waves that make my head feel dizzy as we descend.
‘Careful,’ Zayan whispers, leaning into my space, and a shiver runs down my spine. ‘I can’t have you breaking a leg before our night is over.’
I smile up at him, trying to ease my nerves with the warmth radiating from his look as we continue through the doors. I filled our car ride with nervous chatter, and it could’ve been my imagination, but judging by the way Zayan let me lead the conversation, I think he was waiting for me to ask him more about Laiba – to complete that unfinished sentence interrupted by Nur.
But I talked about everything and anything else.
I just know whatever he’s going to say about it is going to change us. I’m warring inside with the desire to know and the fear of what comes after. But tonight I’m leaning towards not knowing – if for nothing more than to protect our friendship.
The wave-staircase leads us into the main area, and my breath catches in my throat. Right in the centre of the room is a glorious giant oak tree that reaches the ceiling. The lights are a subdued blue, illuminating the room as if we’re roaming a clear sea, and each table has an arrangement with a wooden ship on top of a collection of wild blue flowers. The soft sounds of a violin tremble in the air, mixing well with the hum of chatter. I spot Lacey making a beeline for us before Zayan does.
‘You two look stunning!’ Lacey exclaims, calming my nerves. We haven’t been face to face since those photos got released. ‘Such a perfect pair.’
I glance at Zayan, trying not to blush at how handsome he looks.
Don’t go down that road.
I keep my thoughts from straying towards what Zayan’s touches mean. If I start to think about it, I’ll begin obsessing over whether his intentions have changed. I’ll play the night we went to watch The Phantom of the Opera over and over, again and again, questioning myself about whether I’m imagining something more than simple attraction.
‘You need to go and cosy up to that director over there. She’s pretty much going to be the last obstacle for your auditions. Once you get her approval, you’ve got the role. So go – make yourself likeable,’ Lacey instructs, her voice firm as her eyes roam the room.
I breathe in deeply, pressing a palm to my abdomen to feel the movement. All around me are industry professionals – those I recognize, those I don’t. It feels like they’re staring at me, even though I know they likely aren’t. I wonder if they have impressions of me that I may or may not live up to.
Zayan must notice my tension, because he brings a hand to my elbow, giving it a squeeze. My heart rate slows, and the panic quiets with the realization that I have a safety net in Zayan – someone who has my back.
