Second act

The quiet hum of the engine faded as I pulled up to my villa, its imposing, sleek structure looming in the soft twilight.

I hesitated before turning off the ignition, my fingers lingering on the steering wheel as if holding on to the last vestiges of solitude I'd have for the night.

I knew exactly what awaited me behind those doors, and it wasn't just the warm lighting or the smell of dinner cooking in the kitchen.

It was the judgment, the silent comparisons, the inevitable way my accomplishments never seemed to measure up in the eyes of my family. Not when Kael was around.

Kael, the golden child, the doctor, the savior. My brother, who had not only chosen a career that seemed worthy of praise but also one that seemed to define our family's sense of pride.

Meanwhile, I was just… Zaya. The model, the face on billboards, the one who brought in money but, apparently, not the kind that mattered.

Even when I'd been given the lead in a major film, I already knew what the dinner conversation would revolve around. And it wouldn't be me.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding, finally killing the engine and stepping out of the car.

The familiar scent of the ocean mixed with the evening air, crisp and refreshing, but it did nothing to ease the knot in my stomach. Walking toward the entrance, I straightened my shoulders, as if preparing for battle, and pushed open the door.

The rich aroma of food greeted me immediately something with spices, maybe a roast. My eyes scanned the room, taking in the scene like a prelude to a performance I knew too well.

My parents and Kael were already seated at the dining table, eating. Their conversation was animated, punctuated by laughter.

They hadn't waited for me, of course. But there, at the head of the table, sat my grandmother, her serene face tilted toward the door, waiting patiently. 

Her soft smile was the only thing that made me feel like I still belonged here, even if only slightly. I smiled back at her, a tight, controlled smile, and made my way to the table.

"Zaya, darling," she greeted me gently as I took my seat next to her. Her hand reached out, covering mine in a gesture of comfort. She always knew when I needed it.

"Hi, grandma," I said softly, forcing my tone to be light, though the tension in the air was already palpable.

I picked up my fork and began eating, though the food tasted like cardboard in my mouth. I could feel the weight of unspoken words hanging over the table, waiting to drop at the slightest provocation.

"How was your day, dear?" my grandmother asked, her voice the only kindness in the room.

I hesitated, my fork pausing halfway to my mouth. "It was fine," I began slowly. "I was at the studio all day, helping judge auditions for the film I'm working on."

Before I could even get another word in, my mother's voice cut through the air, sharp and dismissive. "Kael saved someone's life again today," she announced, her eyes shining with pride as they flicked toward my brother.

I clenched my jaw, my fork clattering to the plate a bit louder than I'd intended. I didn't need to look at him to know that smug, self-satisfied smile would be plastered on his face. I felt it, like a physical presence, looming over me.

"He's really making a difference, isn't he?" my father chimed in, his tone reverent. "Not everyone can say they're doing something so important with their lives."

And there it was, the subtle jab. Not everyone. Meaning me.

I fought the urge to throw my fork down and leave the table, but instead, I kept my gaze fixed on my plate, pretending to be more interested in my food than the conversation.

Kael, always eager to play the part of the humble hero, shrugged lightly, but his eyes gleamed with the attention. "It's just part of the job," he said, though the undertone of pride was clear. "I'm just glad I was there at the right time."

The words felt like tiny stabs, each one driving home the same point they always did—that no matter what I did, no matter how much I achieved, it would never be enough for them. Not compared to Kael, the perfect son, the one who could do no wrong in their eyes.

"I'm sure you wouldn't understand, Zaya," my mother added, her tone laced with that familiar mix of condescension and pity. "But saving lives… it's something special. It's real work."

The room went quiet for a moment, but the silence wasn't comforting. It was heavy, pressing down on me from all sides. I could feel my grandmother's gaze on me, a soft squeeze of her hand trying to anchor me, but it didn't stop the bitterness rising in my throat.

My accomplishments, the money I made, the fame I'd earned,it was all just smoke to them. It didn't matter that I was a successful model, that I'd been selected for a major role in a movie.

All of that was nothing because it wasn't "real" in their eyes. Not compared to Kael's selfless, noble career.

I didn't say anything. What was there to say? Defending myself would only make things worse. The best I could do was survive this dinner and leave as quickly as possible.

Dinner dragged on, with my parents continuing to heap praise on Kael, recounting his day in excruciating detail, as if every move he made was worth documenting. The only solace I found was in my grandmother's quiet presence.

She never joined in on the criticism. In fact, she rarely spoke during these family dinners, but her silence was a comfort in itself. She saw me. And that was enough for now.

After the meal, I helped clear the dishes and then turned to my grandmother, offering her the small container of her nightly medicine.

"Here, grandma," I said, handing her the pills. "Let me get you some water."

She smiled up at me, her wrinkled hand wrapping around mine for a moment before taking the glass. "Thank you, dear. You're always so thoughtful."

I helped her take her medicine and then guided her to her room, making sure she was comfortable before turning off the light and gently closing the door behind me.

As I walked down the hallway back to my own room, the weight of the evening pressed down on me, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Once I was in my room, I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over me, washing away the tension and frustration that had been building up all night.

My muscles relaxed under the steam, but my mind kept racing, thoughts swirling around like a storm I couldn't escape.

Maybe this film is a mistake, I thought, as I stood under the spray. Maybe I should've stuck to what I know modeling, photoshoots, runways. Acting wasn't my world, and I wasn't sure I wanted it to be.

But then I remembered Layla's face during the audition, the way she had surprised me, made me feel something, even if just for a moment.

Maybe this film wasn't such a bad idea after all. Maybe, just maybe, there was something worth exploring here.

I sighed, stepping out of the shower and wrapping myself in a towel. As I crawled into bed, I pushed the thoughts aside.

Tomorrow would come, and with it, more decisions to make. But for now, I just wanted to sleep, to escape the relentless comparisons and the feeling of never being enough.

"Maybe it'll get better," I whispered into the darkness. But even as I said it, I wasn't sure if I believed it.