“I am now,” I say truthfully and feel him relax in his chair.
With that one affectionate gesture, I manage to break down the last of my walls. Although I’ve been comfortable enough with Pravat to accept physical affection from him, until that moment, I haven’t been comfortable enough withmyselfto give it back. Now that I have, my relationship with Pravat has become more meaningful than any other in my life. And it shows. By the time filming wraps up, we are one of the most popular Y-couples in the business with a bond apparent to everyone. Every photo shoot, every fan meeting, every interview we do is the subject of speculation on our relationship. Are we together in “real life”? Even my sister isn’t sure, judging by her insistent hounding.
“You can tell me, you know,” she says for the umpteenth as we sit by the pool at our house on a Saturday afternoon. I’m watching a video on my phone of a recent game show where Pravat and I competed against three other popular bl couples in a series of silly competitions designed to put us in intimate positions. This was one of a series of appearances we’ve made in the past few months since filming ended, all leading up to the premiere of the series. Both naturally competitive, Pravat and I are really getting into the games, going the extra mile to win every time. I smile as I watch Pravat popping balloons against my back with a lewd jut of his hips.
“Tell you what?” I ask absently, attention still on the video where the host asks us to take turns biting a marshmallow held betweenthe other’s teeth. The couple with the least amount will be the winner. When I take the last tiny bit from Pravat’s mouth, the audience screams excitedly.
“Are you and Pravat a real couple?” Chinda enunciates as though to someone very thick in the head, which would probably be her description of me.
Acting like a real couple with Pravat has become second nature to me. Last weekend when we went shopping to find Maha a present for his birthday, I found myself reaching for Pravat’s hand. Before I could correct myself, he laced his fingers with mine. And he didn’t let go, walking through the aisles of the store for a good ten minutes with our hands entwined. The warm feeling I got during those moments returns every time I think about it.
“If you’re asking if we’re sleeping together, the answer is no,” I say.
“Are you sure there’s nothing going on between you two, though? Romantically?” Chinda leans across the space between our lounge chairs to peer at the next video I open. This one titledPravma is Real!I’m shocked to see footage from the hand-holding incident in the mall. I shouldn’t be surprised—cell phone cameras are everywhere—but it still surprises me to be confronted with a private moment on social media to be dissected by the comment section.
“There! Look at that. You aren’t working and you’re holding hands like lovers!” Chinda points at my phone.
Turning it off, I lean my head back and look over the sparkling water of the swimming pool.
“It’s habit,” I say. “We’re just friends.”
“Friends who hold hands and kiss.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Chinda, we don’t kiss unless we’re filming a scene.” I pause, thinking. “Unless it’s fan service.”
“No fan service requires you to kiss on the lips.”
Annoyed, I say, “You act like we’re making out or something. Be serious. Isn’t this what you wanted? For Pravat and me to become a popular Y-couple?”
Slipping on her shoes, Chinda says, “Yes. I’m very happy about it. I was only asking a simple question—no need to bite my head off.” She stands.
“It was a dumb question,” I mumble. “You know I’m not into guys.”
“You’re into Pravat.”
“You’re reading too much into this.”
“When’s the last time you took a girl out?”
“When do I have the time? Maybe you should get your head out of the clouds and concentrate on your studying.”
Sticking her tongue out at me, Chinda gathers her towel and the book she was reading earlier and flounces inside the house.
Pushing my sister and her silly ideas from my head, my thoughts turn to the party Tida is throwing for the cast and crew at a local club to celebrate the first episode of the series being aired tonight. I’m nervous. This will be much different from a fan meeting or talk show where I can partially stay in character. No fans will be at the club, only others from the industry. How should I act?
My phone buzzes with a text from Pravat.
Pick you up at 6:30.
I let out a relieved sigh. I’d been dreading walking into the club alone. I type out a reply.
You don’t have to. It’s out of your way.
Just be ready.
What am I going to wear? Scrambling up from the chair, I head inside, shivering when the cold air hits my damp skin. Having spent his childhood in America, Pah insists on having an air conditioning unit in our home, but I would prefer to do without. When I get my own house, I plan to have many open windows and doors to allow the breeze to flow through and none of this fake freezing air shit.
“Rama.”