Ten Years

Chapter One

Casablanca, June 2006

Leïla opened the window in her bedroom a crack hoping to enjoy an early morning breeze. But the air was warmer than she had anticipated, promising an early Moroccan summer.

How she dreaded the hot days! Her curls were usually out of control and would go flat in weird hair places. But during summer, they would frizz under Casablanca's high humidity and puff up like a lion's mane. And don't get her started on those flyaways. She tried to tame them along the years and then tried some more, convinced it was the magic bullet that would smooth all her problems, too.

Just yesterday, Lina had begged her to straighten her hair for her. "Just this once," her older sister had asked. "It's the first day of work at your new job. First impressions matter!"

She couldn't argue with that as the urge to flat iron still crept up on her, but long gone are the days when she burned her scalp for the sake of blending in. It took her some time before she embraced her natural hair. It was wild and free and lively and part of who she was.

Leïla grabbed her phone and stepped into the bathroom. She shivered at the cold tiles under her feet. This marketing position was her dream job since she started college. The rounds of interviews had been gruesome – with pressure from her finals and from competing against nine other candidates. Some of them with prior experience in marketing.

The idea of pursuing a PhD had tickled at the back of her mind. It was always there, ready to pounce and derail all her crafted plans. But her optimistic nature and determination – that some may call stubbornness - had taken over. And she was glad she hadn't quit.

Her mum would have been so proud. She closed her eyes for a moment, the memory of her mum's bouncy curls tickling her face filling her heart. She could almost pretend her mum would open the bathroom door at any moment, asking her what she'd like to have for breakfast.

Almost. But not quite. There was a big difference. Her mum wasn't there anymore.

Her cell phone vibrated and displayed her boyfriend's name on the screen. Surprised at first, her face lit up at the thought of him sending her a sweet note for her first day at work.

Hey sweetness. Can't make it 2nite. See u 2morrow?

"Ha!" she laughed at herself. After six months of dating, he had yet to use texts for something other than confirming, canceling a date, or sharing a joke. Why would she expect something different today?

Leïla added a pin to the side of her hair and stared back at her reflection in the mirror. There were still days when she couldn't stand her hair, especially when it was frizzy and wild and out of control and refusing to fall into submission. Yet, she loved her auburn curls. They reminded her of her mum.

"Alright then," she said, addressing them, "you win." She let her hair rebel on her shoulders and grabbed the lavender bottle by the sink, the ache to feel her mum's signature fragrance ever so present.

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LONDON, THE VERY SAME DAY

"You're telling me Andrew won't be playing Romeo tonight, and probably won't come back until next week?"

"It's all very silly really," said the assistant director shaking her head. "He fell climbing the ladder during today's rehearsal."

Edward made a pained face. "And is he okay? I mean, you said he's not coming back this week."

"Well, he missed one step and now he has severe lumbago and a broken leg. He's restricted to bed rest for the rest of the week."

A broken leg. The irony wasn't lost on Edward.

A shot of excitement quickly chased the pang of pity in his chest. Edward had been the understudy for the multi-award-winning British actor during the first two months of this West End theatre production. He knew the part and had fantasised a countless number of times about performing it on stage.

An actor since he was sixteen years old, Edward struggled like many of his peers despite a degree from RADA, one of the most prestigious drama schools in the UK.

At twenty-three, he was now just one more actor barely getting enough work to live off, still waiting for that one job, that one role, where he could show the world what he was capable of. Eagerly waiting for that before and after moment where everything would be reframed.

"Does this mean what I think it means?" asked Edward.

"Yes," answered the assistant director already thinking of the next thing to cross off his lengthy to-do list. "They're waiting for you in make-up and costume."

This is it. Edward told himself, a shiver of anticipation coursing through him. The moment I have been waiting for. He thanked the assistant director and headed backstage.

"And, Edward?"

"Yes?" he answered, turning his head around.

"Break a leg, mate."