Disclaimer: I do not own Eastenders or any of the characters.

Story: My attempt at Syed's perspective when thinking about his feelings for Christian and trying to decide what to do. Slash.

Note: This story is not intended to offend Muslims. It is merely my recounting of one man's conflict between his faith and his sexuality. Whilst I cannot understand the issue fully being non religious, I aim to handle the issue with utmost respect and realism.

I wake, and for a moment there is peace before it all comes back to me in vivid detail. Amira. Christian. And most recently, the therapist.

I groan, and sit up. I don't want to see the therapist today. It's a waste of money for something that isn't working at all. My feelings for Christian, romantic and sexual, are the same as they ever were. I should have known they couldn't simply be scrubbed clean in one session. It would have made things so much easier for me if they could be though.

Christian. My eyes fill with tears as I remember bumping into him at the market. Touching his arm and acting like nothing had even happened between us, even though electric sparks were dancing up and down me as a reminder of how much I missed touching you. And then, I went to your place, under the pretext of sorting out a menu for a party, and told you about the therapy. Told you I was cured.

I lied through my teeth. Being "cured" of this would certainly take the pain away, but I don't want to be cured. I want to walk up to you and kiss you in the middle of the street, crush our bodies together and feel your strong arms around me. I want to be able to do that, and still be a Muslim. Forgive me Allah. But do I really have to choose between you and Christian? Am I not allowed to be happy and in love? I would accept this was merely a test if it was only lust I felt for Christian, but it isn't, it's so much stronger.

I glance at the clock. 6am. Everyone will still be asleep. I could sneak downstairs and pray in peace. I tiptoe down the stairs, and glance at the prayer mats. No. I can't now. I feel like a fake. It wouldn't be fair if I couldn't give Allah my full dedication. My gaze turns to the door. Freedom. Calling to me.

Christian.

I know I'll change my mind when I get there, but I find myself walking to Christian's place. I want to see him so badly, to confirm to myself the depth of my feelings. I hesitate at the door. He won't want to see me. I'm the very last person he'll want to see. After the bull I spouted about being "cured". It'll be the most offensive rubbish he's ever heard, I bet.

Unexpectedly, the door opens on me. Christian. In a t shirt and boxers, with slightly ruffled bed hair. He looks so beautiful that I barely hear his sleepily confused "Syed?"

"S-Sorry, I know it's early – "

"Come in," he murmurs, holding the door open. I step inside before he changes his mind. He walks over to the counter, and opens the fridge. I watch him pour orange juice, trying to form the right words in my mind.

It comes out more messily than I had intended. "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry." He turns back to me, taking a drink. He seems to be listen, so I hurry on. "The therapist I'm seeing, it's not working at all, though I tried so hard, it isn't working, and I don't really want it to work." He's put the glass down, and is staring at me in a way that is making me more emotional than I like. "Because I love you."

"Syed, look – "

"No!" I interrupt forcefully. "Let me finish, please? I-I choose you Christian. I want to be with you. I've thought about it and even though I keep going in circles..." I realise I've taken a step towards him without thinking about it. "I can't deny these feelings. And if they're this strong, I don't think it's possible to deny them, even if it isn't Allah's will."

I look back up to see Christian is smiling. He walks over to me. Slides his hand down my arm to take my hand in the way he used to, the way that makes my heart race. "Do you really mean it? Because I don't think I could take another rejection from you, Syed."

"Yes, I do."

He pulls me tightly into his arms and I inhale his scent as deeply as I can, all zingy orange juice and bed mixed with his natural scent. "I love you," I murmur into his ear, unable to fight it any longer.

"I love you too," I hear him say, and that's when I know that no matter how much my family throw at us, we'll be able to handle it. I can face it, with him by my side.