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“He’s my bodyguard,” I tell her.
The woman is visibly confused. She holds up her phone. “Um, okay. That’s nice, but I was hoping one of you could take a photo of me and my friends? We’re visiting from Pakistan.”
She gestures behind her, and I notice her friends for the first time.I’m the biggest fool, and it hits me how I’ve messed up when I notice Huan’s expression switch from surprise to hurt, and then melt into forced impassiveness.
Sparing me from further foolishness, he helps the woman take a photo.
When we are alone again, I blurt out, “I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Okay.”
The bland tone makes me feel like littered trash.
“I’m not ashamed of you,” I say with growing urgency. “It’s not that. I—I didn’t want another photo of us out there in the world. And I’m sure you agree that if that happens, people will talk. And then everything between us—it explodes.” Swallowing hard, I remind him again, “We don’t want that.”
Huan looks at me.
Paradoxically, I’m as scared of him agreeing he doesn’t want us in the open as I am of him disagreeing. I think… I think I’m also scared,in general. Mohinder Uncle’s call rang a loud, deafening bell. Anything I've been outrunning has come slapped me in my face.
I open my mouth to tell Huan,I don’t want it to be this way.
But he speaks first.
“How many more days in London?”
Right, he is quitting after this trip. He’s done. For why wouldn’t he be? If this moment is any indication of what it would be like for us when we get back, I understand he doesn’t want it. No one would. Being fake in public because of image control?Absolute fucking nightmare.
Even I hate it. Those despair hooks pinch in deeper.
“Less than a week,” I answer Huan hoarsely. “We’ve got less than a week in London left.”
He turns away.
I can’t handle it. I rush forward and grab his hand.
“I’m sorry,” I choke out. “I swear I’m not ashamed of you—I’mstressed.”
He looks down at my hold. “You’re under a lot of pressure.”
I give a firm shake of my head. “None of that means this is fair to you.”
“From where I’m standing, it doesn’t feel fair to you either, Komal.”
“I’ve already agreed to do the movie,” I whisper. “It would ruin everything for so many people if I backed out now. Contracts are drawn, and my mom’s reputation is on the line.”
“Your happiness,” he reminds me.
“I can’t?—”
“I know. I hate it, but I know.” His jaw ripples as he clenches it. “Even with people who love you, choosing yourself can mean paying a price for it.”
I briefly shut my eyes. “We are talking about being famous, and I am sinking into this pity spiral. My golden cage. Pathetic.”
His hand ghosts near my face.
We’re both so fucking aware of being caught. I hate it.
I look up at him. “Can you take over all my decisions for me? Force me into not doing it?”
