For what it’s worth, he’d rather be at home.
To be fair, it’s safe to assume at any given moment that Kai would rather be at home. He’s never subscribed to the idea that parents, for the sake of their own sanity, require respite from their children. In truth, he thinks he needs his children far more than they need him. He doesn’t like to leave them, and if he didn’t have an iron-willed sister who would never allow it, he doubts he ever would. As it stands, she’s ushered him out for the evening, taking on babysitting duties so he can… do what, exactly? Sit alone at a bar, listening to a stranger rip into one of his films whilst wishing he was at home? Because that’s what he’s doing, apparently – and, for lack of more eloquent phrasing, it sucks.
Even the most egocentric of filmmakers couldn’t spend a decade having criticism levelled at their work and not come away feeling suitably jaded by the experience. Kai is no exception to that (and there hadn’t even been an ego to chip away at in the first place, just palpable please-like-me energy). In recent years, he’d been dubbed the Patron Saint of Insomniacs for his snooze-worthy cinematic offerings and, although seeking out negative reviews used to be like tonguing a broken tooth, painful yet impossible to resist, these days it’s more like pressing a finger to a fading bruise, just to make sure it still aches. What this stranger says is the latter. Just a fading bruise. A cursory Google search could do more damage, he imagines. In more sober circumstances, he’d be too embarrassed to say anything, but liquid courage has his lips parting in preparation to speak before he can think to stop them.
“If you think that’s dull, make sure to check out the sequel. You’ll be asleep till Christmas.“
Upon first glance, these two men seem to have nothing in common. But little do they know they’d both rather be at home.
The difference is Shami knows the second he opens the front door, he’s entering into the line of fire from his own harsh critic, whether it’s deserved or not. Farha made it a point for him to know she’d be in this evening which translates into wanting the house to herself for the night. Their marriage might not be the healthiest, but at least they’re trying to make things work with what they’ve got. Apparently, for them, that means avoiding each other.
Shami’s taste in media hasn’t changed since he was around sixteen years old. He likes fast action sequences, cheesy jokes, a mindless storyline where the message of the movie goes right over his head. In some ways, criticism from Shami is a compliment of the highest regard.
“Holy-” A voice speaks and it makes him jump. He didn’t realise someone was nearby. The surprise from finding out there’s a sequel is quickly subdued over the shock from seeing who spoke. Strange, because he has the same face of the person who he’d stared at on his phone a few minutes ago.
“You’re not- You can’t be-” A look of guilt cross his features as he slips his thumb between his teeth to bite down on it. Just his luck. “I don’t suppose you’re a long lost twin or a look-a-like or something?”