At The Stroke of Midnight

"NO! NO, CHRISTIAN, I DO NOT WANT TO GO TO THE VIC! I DON'T WANT TO SPEND TONIGHT WITH ROXY."

"Well, I do. This is New Year's eve and that means partying. There's gonna be a party at the Vic and I wanna be there. And you should be there with me!"

"Christian, don't you remember last New Year's eve? The kiss? How we spoke the next day, how I finally admitted I was gay. Our year , the marriage, what happened to us, how we came back together. Can't we just stay in? You can teach me that dance, we can watch this film, make love? Can't we be alone tonight?"

"We can do that any time of the year. Sy, this is New Year's eve. And I wanna party. Roxy is expecting me, us..."

"Why would I want to spend the night with Roxy? She thinks I'm dull."

Christian looked angrily at Syed and shook his head. "Well maybe she's right."

Syed was stunned. He stood still and then, his voice shaking, quietly said, "I never realized just how shallow you are."

They glared at each other for a moment, and then Christian grabbed his jacket and rushed out the door. "You know, I don't think I want you there after all. I wanna have fun and you will just get in the way. Don't wait up for me. I don't know when I'll be home."

After Christian slammed out of the flat, Syed sat there stone cold, stilled, thinking. They'd had their little tiffs before, living in such close quarters, working together, being such different people, but nothing like this. And even more than the words that were spoken was the painful realization that Christian had no idea what tonight meant to him and that he'd prefer to be in the pub than alone with him.

'I'll phone Tamwar, see what he's doing tonight.' Syed dialled Tamwar's mobile.

"Hiya Tam. Can you talk?"

"Hello, Syed. Yeah, Mum and Dad are at the Queen Vic tonight, and I'm babysitting. Great. Wild life I have. I'll be the babysitter for life."

"Wanna come over? I thought we could watch a DVD and drink some orange juice at the new year!"

"Oh I can't, Syed. Just put Kamil down to sleep and i don't want to disturb him. Anyway, where's Christian?"

"Oh, he'll be back soon. H e just went to have a drink with Roxy." Syed's voice trailed off. He couldn't tell Tamwar the truth when he was already suspicious of Christian the party animal.

"Okay little brother, happy New Year and see you soon. I love you."

"I love you too, Syed. I'll come see you tomorrow."

Syed tried to settle down, watch telly, put on the video, but switched it all off. Nothing could distract him from the pain of this rejection from the man who once told him that he was enough for him, that all he needed was Syed. The loneliness was unbearable, the gnawing doubts were wrenching. He fingered his Qu'ran, read a few suras, and decided to go to the mosque, his home mosque. His parents were at the Vic and he really needed to speak to pray and think about what all of this meant.

As Syed approached, some of the men began to walk out towards him, but the Iman glared at them and hurried over to greet him.

"As-Salāmu `Alaykum, brother Syed. How have you been? We missed you during Ramadan."

"As-Salāmu `Alaykum. I'm fine. I, I just thought it would be better to go to the other mosque, given, well, given everything that's happened."

Syed walked in with the Imam and found a place to spread out his rug. He did the prescribed Friday prayers and then spent time in private conversation with Allah, pouring out his distress and asking him what to do, how to understand what had just happened.

Suddenly, he had the sensation that he was being watched. He looked up and into the most gentle and loving face he had encountered in the mosque since he came out.

"Hi, I'm Farhan. You must be Syed."

Syed looked quizzically at the man, who hurriedly added,

"Let's go have a coffee and I'll explain everything to you."

Syed was in turmoil, nervous, worried, but the other man just smiled and touched his arm.

"Come on. It will be all right."

"Okay."

As they walked out, the Imam gave an almost imperceptive nod and then turned to speak to some other men.

"Syed, the Imam told me about you, that you're gay...no, don't run off. You see, the thing is, I'm gay, too. I'm the Iman's nephew, but you mustn't tell anyone. He told me that you'd spoken to him and about your suicide attempt and it changed him, Syed, it really did. He has to keep my relationship to him secret, but he is really trying to understand. And he's made me feel very welcome at the mosque, seeing off all the auntie's attempts to matchmake."

Syed just stood there and stared.

"The Imam told you about me?"

"Yes, he's been waiting for you to come back so he could introduce us. Come on, Syed, let's go get a coffee and talk."

Syed nodded and followed the other man to the cafe. They ordered, and sat down at a table. Farhan told him his story.

"In secondary school and uni, I had lots of girlfriends, really gorgeous women, but I didn't really feel anything for them. I told my dad once – he's an English convert, but he'd been a bit of a lad when he was younger. I thought he could give me some advise, but all he said was that I obviously hadn't met 'the one' and he and my mother would start to find me somebody. I never found the right girl, because I realized that there never could never be a right girl, and so I told my parents that I was going to move out so as not to cause them any shame. They phoned my uncle, who invited me here."

Syed listened attentively. He so needed a friend outside of his Walford life, someone who would be there for him in the way that Roxy was there for Christian.

"Your story's so much like mine, but I went and got married. I guess your uncle told you. Amira, a really beautiful woman. I loved her, I really did, but not like that, not like a man is supposed to love a woman. I hurt her; I'll never forgive myself for that."

It was so easy to talk to him and a relief to be with him on New Year's eve. There were no battles about drinking and partying, he did not have to explain what you do in a mosque, nor what it was like to have a Zainab-type mother. They chatted about Farhan's studies and his work, and about Syed's massage course, about everything except Christian.

"I'd sign up for one of your massages any day."

Farhan smiled at Syed and Syed coughed on his drink and looked up. He wasn't used to men flirting with him. Farhan was, what would Christian call him, hot. He was 22, well built. The combination of Pakistani mother and Scottish father blended well in him, he was golden brown, with large dark eyes and silky hair...

'Stop this. It isn't right.' Syed pulled his thoughts away from the beauty of Farhan and changed the topic but Farhan was not so easily dissuaded.

" You know, we've been talking for 2 hours, and you haven't mentioned your boyfriend once. What's his name..."

"Christian."

"Well that's a great name for the boyfriend of a devout Muslim! What's up, Syed, why aren't you with him tonight? I had the feeling that something was bothering you."

Syed pursued his lips, shook his head.

"I don't..."

"Come on Syed. Talk to me. What's wrong?"

He looked up into those dark, lovely, sympathetic eyes, and told him everything, the whole story, of their love and their pain, of the year of living dangerously and the six months of living out and in the light. And then he told him about earlier in the evening.

Just as he finished, someone in the cafe turned the television up louder. "And it's coming up to the midnight hour, and the new year 2011."

Syed checked his phone quickly, to see if Christian had left him a message, but there was nothing. As he was putting it away, he was grabbed around the waist. '10, 9, 8, 7'

"He's a pratt if he leaves a guy like you alone on New Year's eve." '6, 5, 4, 3, 2'

At the stroke of midnight, Farhar wrapped Syed in his arms and kissed him through the pain and through the doubt, a kiss that lasted well into 2011.