AllFreeNovel
Share Us
And the movie role? He’s got his dream. He’s going to be in front of the camera again. In Australia. A million miles away. Everything he’s ever wanted.
I wonder if he’s stopped calling now. The itch to unblock him and check is unbearable, so awful that I push myself off the sofa and search for something to do. I can’t bake because Maha and Amal are asleep; I can’t call home because if my mother asks me Are you OK, Paari? I will dissolve into tears. And I don’t want to cry. I want to power through. I want to let go. I want to move on and pretend none of this has happened.
In the end, there’s only one activity I can do without waking everyone up, one that will make me feel useful: taking out the trash.
With more force than necessary, I tie the black bin bag closed, haul it over my shoulder, slip on my shoes and make my way out of the flat. The street is quiet; faint, indecipherable sounds that belong to the night can be heard in the distance. There are a few cars parked outside, probably belonging to the residents of the building. The sky is an infinite kind of blue, the moon cocooned by wisps of clouds.
I drop the bag on the pavement so I can wheel out the recycling bin, focusing on the way the coolness of the November morning nips at my skin despite the sweatshirt I’m wearing over my pyjamas.
‘You know, for a second there, I thought you’d never leave your flat.’ The all-too-familiar voice causes me to jump a foot into the air. I barely withhold a scream, clutching at my chest as I whirl round to see Zayan leaning against a car. Right in front of my bins.
I try to breathe to slow my racing heartbeat. He looks painfully handsome and rumpled. His hair is a mess of brown waves, his soft sage-green sweater is creased and, even though there’s a faint sense of sleepiness draped over his body, his tea-brown eyes are alert.
‘W-what are you doing here?’ I ask, my voice shaking with nerves.
His jaw hardens, arms crossing over his chest. ‘You blocked my number. You blocked everyone’s numbers. You blocked my email. My socials. I was here two days ago, but Amal and Maha turned me away at the door. I came back yesterday and sat on your doorstep, waiting, until Maha threatened to call the police.’ I vaguely remember Maha yelling at someone at the door. I’d assumed it was somebody trying to sell us something. ‘I’m back here again because you had to come out eventually.’
His expression is livid, softened only by concern, but my mind can focus on nothing other than the memory of how he looked at Laiba.
‘Most – most of the articles I’ve read are happy about you and Laiba,’ I offer, trying hard to not think too deeply about the fact that he came back. He came back. I breathe in deeply before plastering a smile on to my face. ‘And so am I. She’s wonderful. We met in the bathroom at the gala, actually –’
He stalks forward, and it takes all my strength not to step back. He comes close enough that I can see the tension in his shoulders, anger lining every muscle in his body.
‘You have got to be kidding me,’ Zayan interrupts. ‘You cannot possibly think I’m in love with Laiba. Or that I care what the media thinks about me right now.’
‘Of course you care,’ I fire back, annoyed at him now. I don’t want him to lie to me; I’ve always appreciated that he’s done what he must for his dreams. Knowing that has been the only thing that’s shielded me from entirely sinking into the fantasy of Zayan feeling anything for me beyond friendship.
‘This whole thing –’ I gesture in the little space between us – ‘started because you needed your reputation fixed. I’ve done my part. You’re fine now. So I’m fine too.’
And maybe Zayan would’ve believed it if my voice hadn’t cracked over the second “fine”.
He scrubs a hand down his face, the tension draining from him. I sink my teeth into my lower lip, trying desperately not to cry. I don’t want to cry.
‘Can we go inside?’ Zayan, asks, more softly than I probably deserve. ‘I won’t ask you to come back to the play. I just want to clear things up, Farah. And then, if you still want to stay away, I’ll respect your decision, knowing you’ve made it based on all the facts.’
‘Why can’t we just do it here?’ I ask, not wanting to get into an enclosed space with Zayan. Being this near to him is already muddling my senses.
‘Because the smell of that bin makes me want to gag,’ he deadpans.
I sigh, turn on my heel and lead us inside.
We sit in the kitchen, and I automatically start quietly preparing two cups of chai.
Zayan rests his elbows on the kitchen island, hands laced in front of him, eyes determinedly fixed on my every move.
‘Why did you leave the play?’ he asks finally. ‘You said you knew the attack from the LSDCATS was targeting you and me. How?’
My heart feels as crumpled as the note the LSDCATS left in the ruined theatre. I’ve kept it with me the entire time. I slide it out of my pyjama pocket now, towards him.
He looks up from the note just as I finish pouring the chai into two cups. His anger has returned tenfold; his expression is thunderous. I sit on the seat opposite him, grateful there’s a whole slab of marble separating us.
‘You know this really isn’t your fault, right?’ Zayan says.
I shrug, staring at my tea. ‘It feels like it.’
‘Why?’
There’s nothing to lose by being honest with Zayan now – no Tragedies, no fame. And I’m already in love with him.
