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That same cold feeling from the library seeps through me once more. Before, I would’ve paid no mind to the word “exotic”. I’d have maybe even found it complimentary. But now all I can hear is the condescension, the fascination with something foreign. Like I’m a prize that can be bought.
My blood thrums, and from the way Zayan’s entire body vibrates with anger I know he’s upset by the choice of words, and by the blatant misogyny as well. I can see him getting ready to explode, and I take action, steering him away from the conversation. Though we leave abruptly, neither of the soon-to-be-drunk men seem to care.
‘Let me go back there,’ Zayan grinds out, teeth clenched.
‘No,’ I reply stubbornly. ‘Leave it. You’re not causing a scene tonight. We can’t cause a scene tonight.’ I catch sight of the director we’ve been circling and decide this is the time for Zayan to talk to her. I discreetly bring us closer and then gently shove Zayan in her direction.
‘Farah –’
‘Go,’ I whisper-shout. ‘I’m getting another drink.’
I leave Zayan on the outskirts of the group, knowing he must do this conversation on his own. If I’m there, the narrative will just turn to our relationship.
I situate myself at an angle when I reach the bar, pressing my back against the edge so I can survey Zayan. He’s been enveloped by the group and is animatedly talking to the director. Any glimmer of worry I had that he would flounder evaporates – of course he’s fine.
If I’m being entirely honest with myself, a tiny hint of envy curls in my mind at the effortless way Zayan can slip into his confidence. His dreams take priority every time, and all his other worries, whatever they may be, just fade away. He knows exactly what he wants and how to get it.
I thought I did too. My heart still aches to be an actress, but I’m terrified that I’m just not good enough to be one. Those girls in the library clearly thought I wasn’t, so many people online don’t and the LSDCATS didn’t. If the play fails, and if it fails because of me, I’m not sure I can pick myself back up again. I’m not sure I can keep my dream alive.
‘You look like you’ve sucked on something incredibly sour,’ a voice says, startling me out of my self-flagellating thoughts. A man leans against the bar table right in front of me, light-brown hair coiffed into an elaborate style, skin a shade darker than Zayan’s and eyes an endless kind of black. His suit is a deep indigo and adds to his aura of mystery.
I point to the lemon wedge on the rim of my glass. ‘I wonder why that could be.’
He smiles, and it heightens how handsome he already is. ‘Here I was thinking you may be jealous of your beau being deep in conversation with another woman.’
I spare a glance at Zayan, who has his head bent close to the director’s. A laugh bubbles past my lips. I already know Zayan is recounting some vivid story from the way his hands are moving. It’s not his flirting stance or expression.
‘He’s not my beau,’ I say, because it’s true. And maybe because I’m a little tired of only being Zayan’s date and not an aspiring actress.
The man’s brow lifts, and he leans in just a little closer. ‘In that case, allow me to introduce myself: Farouz Latil.’
‘Oh!’ I exclaim, realizing who he is. ‘You were in Hello Heartbreak, right?’
Farouz looks pleased by my recognition, preening under the attention. He didn’t have a major role in the movie – I think he was a secondary character – but I remember enjoying how cutting and witty he was when surrounded by a lovesick main cast.
‘I was,’ Farouz replies, an exaggerated tone colouring his voice. ‘I take it you enjoyed my performance?’
‘You were adequate, I suppose.’
‘You wound me.’ Farouz’s voice dips lower, and he shifts closer so our elbows brush. ‘Maybe you could give me some pointers? I wouldn’t mind studying lines with you.’
His intention is clear as day, and a blush paints my cheeks. I’ve had male attention before, but never so blatantly. Before I can reply and ward off Farouz’s request with a well-meaning letdown, a figure cuts into our conversation. I look away from Farouz to Zayan, confused by his sudden arrival.
‘Hello,’ Zayan says, sticking out his hand to be shaken. ‘Zayan Amin.’
Farouz’s smile never dips; in fact, a hint of amusement flickers in his dark eyes. ‘Pleasure to meet you. Farouz Latil.’ He turns his attention to me. ‘I was just getting to know your lovely friend Farah. We were discussing going over lines together.’
I cringe at the way he’s phrased it. ‘I wouldn’t push it that far. You were asking, and I was about to reject.’
‘Allow me to persuade you,’ Farouz offers pleasantly. He gives Zayan a half smile, a dangerous lilt to his voice. ‘How about dinner?’
I expected Zayan to laugh Farouz’s flirting off, comfortable in his confidence – and, more importantly, I expected him not to care. I’m not actually his significant other.
But Zayan’s hand finds mine, our fingers immediately interlace and the cool look in his eyes makes my heart jump straight to my throat. The glass I was raising to my lips pauses; I fear that I may choke on the liquid. Farouz’s own humour dims slightly, and now he looks like he’s swallowed something sour. He exits the conversation swiftly, clearly perturbed by Zayan’s blatant show of … of …
Possessiveness.
When that word whispers in my mind, I attempt to wrench my hand out of Zayan’s hold, but he keeps us intertwined. He pulls me, in one fluid movement, to a shadowy corner near the bar – somewhat hidden from prying eyes.
