AT THE STROKE OF MIDNIGHT – CHAPTER 3

Where do you go when that which you are seeking to hide from is yourself?

Syed wandered out into the night and approached a shop window. He stared at his reflection. He knew that his physical manifestation had not changed. It was he, hair, eyes, mouth, body. But who inhabited him? Who was this inner demon who had colonized him, replaced Syed with a monster?

He began to cry, such tears as he had not had in him since the last day he had seen his therapist, those purging tears which moved him from hell and began his journey, if not to paradise, then at least to real life. And now? What are these tears for? A journey of damnation?

'Who am I? Who is this person that I suddenly became tonight, at the stroke of midnight? Am I then a cheat? I never claimed this for me when I kept my relationship with Christian throughout my engagement and my marriage – I was in love with him, but tied to her through family and faith, and I did love her, I wanted to love them both, give them both all of me, but I was not, I was not a 'cheat'.'

'Or was I? I embezzled money once – am I just that? A man who embezzles both money and love? An embezzler of hearts? Mum's? Dad's? Amira's? Christian's? Christian, the man whom I told was the most important person in my life? I, Syed, suspicious of everyone Christian meets, fearing the day he finds someone new, certain, absolutely convinced that, if either of us was going to cheat, it would be Christian.'

He walked 'round and 'round, exhausted, and so cold, he thought that even the fires of hell could not warm him.

He stumbled, eyes drowning, obscuring his outlook, and fell, tearing his jeans. He lay there for a moment, knees stinging, a stance of prayer. He looked at his watch, thought about the morning prayers, and then realized that now, more than at any other time, he was unworthy to approach Allah. He had told his brother Tamwar that, despite his relationship with Christian, his love for a man, he was still a servant of Allah and that Allah had made him how he was. Allah approved because it was love - but this was wanton rebellion – He solitude burned through him – he sundered that relationship, too.

"bink, bink."

It's 4 in the morning. Please come home. Christian.

It was time to go home. He struggled to rise from his fallen state, thought it a fair metaphor, and found the bus-stop.

'It's dawn. The anniversary of my wedding, the anniversary of my revelation to my mother, and now and forever, the anniversary of my betrayal. This is not how this year was meant to begin.'

When he arrived finally at Walford, he moved foot after foot until he reached the flat. His home, their home, his place of refuge, his comfort and rest. He had no right to it, nor to those qualities now.