Over a week has gone by since we arrived back at Cambridge, and despite the dismally dark cloud of exams looming over the horizon, I don't remember ever feeling this content with life. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I'm close to leaving my horrible teenage years behind and my adolescent hormones have stopped doing really weird things to my body. Or it might have everything to do with a certain rather delectable boy, whose intoxicating lips have just this very minute stolen my ability to form coherent sentences, or even basically breathe.

Damn; Al is one amazing kisser.

And now he wants to go back for seconds, thirds and fourths.

Who am I to stop him? Al once told me that 'practice makes perfect'. I could take that as a massive insult to my proficiency…or I could simply capitalise on all this 'practicing' and let the neurotransmitters flow. Right now, my stress-cloaked brain needs all the serotonin, dopamine and oxytocin it can get. And dopamine is extra beneficial as it helps to reduce my blood pressure and heart rate.

I'm definitely prescribing more kissing for myself.

Did I ever mention just how lingually gifted Al is?

Sigh.

I reflect back over nine blissful evenings of eating Sicilian pizza; sneaking Al into my college room without a guest permit because I forgot to book one at the Porter's Lodge; huddling up together on the sofa in my room to watch Netflix; finding comfort and protection in his arms - his sexy, sexy arms - and listening to the whispered, unhurried noise of his breathing as he sleeps; waking up to his tousled head on my pillow; finding visual nourishment in the contours of his pectoral muscles.

Glancing at him lying on top of my rumpled bed, I have to admit, he really enhances this room and my life.

But this term's not been all about Al. I like to think I've struck a good balance between work and leisure, with the vast bulk of the day devoted to a mix of revision and occasional classes, and the rest of the time to myself. Or more correctly, ourselves.

As I ponder this thought, I become acutely aware that Al's eyes are upon me.

With the keenness of a leopard, he watches me watching him for a moment, before breaking into a devilish smile and leaping possessively over me as I let out an involuntary giggle. Just when I'm almost expecting him to ravish me into the bedclothes, he inclines forward to plant the lightest brush of a kiss against my forehead, then sits back and gazes at me thoughtfully.

"What time is it, Sunny?"

I peer at my wrist-watch and give a little gasp. "Shit! Time we got moving. I said we'd meet the others at half-past ten and it's twenty-five past already. They'll wonder where we are!"

"Relax. They're smart enough to work it out," replies Al teasingly, reaching out and running a finger down the side of my neck before softly kissing the area of skin he's just stroked, instantly making me want to melt on the spot.

"But I hate being late," I murmur, transfixed by Al's touch and momentarily torn between wishing this moment could go on for longer, and not wanting to let our friends down; the latter winning out. I scramble off the bed and hastily smooth down my clothes. "I guess I better text the gang and let them know we're on our way."

Al unfurls himself and stretches luxuriantly, then runs a splayed hand through his hair, somehow magically restoring a sense of order to it and transforming himself into stylish catalogue model material to boot. "Okay," he shrugs. "I'm ready when you are."

"Show-off," I mutter, throwing my phone at him with one hand and tugging a hairbrush furiously through my own tresses with the other. "Here; you can message everyone if you've got nothing else to do."

"I wish your college would allow guests to stay," I sigh, as we walk along Trinity Street, weaving in and out of tourists and window-shoppers on our way to meet our friends. "I mean, it's not a huge problem for you to stay at mine, because, frankly, even the porters turn a blind eye to our college room rules, and absolutely nobody gives a shit if visitors stay for more than ten days per term, but I'd love to see where you live. What your room looks like, what posters or art you've hung on your walls; that kind of thing."

"Unfortunately, our warden's pretty strict and I really don't want to cross them, you know? It's not worth the hassle. Anyway, my room's not that dissimilar to yours," he replies, his hand squeezing mine reassuringly. "Dark wood panelling, wooden floorboards, a few striped floor-rugs, two old-fashioned arched windows, a two-seater sofa, a high-backed chair with holes in it, walk-in wardrobe, chest-of-drawers, bed, desk, stool, great big table lamp. Once you've seen one college room, I expect you've seen them all."

"You know what I mean. I want to see what stamp you've put on it."

"I haven't bothered with artwork or ornaments or got creative with glitter, if that's what you mean. I just have a few photographs of family and friends dotted about, that's all."

"Is it super messy? Is that why I'm not allowed to see it?"

He laughs suddenly; a delighted, high-pitched peal. "Sunny, are you kidding me? Have you never noticed the state of your own room? It's like a war-zone on a good day! Why would I be ashamed of my room, knowing how you keep yours?"

I let go of his hand to pummel his upper arm in faux fury as he fends me off, his laugh turning into a mumbling, snorting apology as we bump into a pedestrian, who tuts in response. "And you've been contributing to that 'war-zone' for the last nine days, Alicante Potter. So don't fucking start."

We're still laughing as we burst through the doors of the bus-stop café and head for our friends' table by the window.

"Hey."

"Nice of you two to show up," says Judith. "You're a whole ten minutes late, Sunny! I'm surprised you haven't gone into cardiac arrest at the horror of it all."

I bite back a response about dopamine and how it's keeping my heart pumping at a sensible rate these days, because I'm fairly sure that none of our friends need the mental image of Al and I canoodling, nor the pharmacological explanation. "Sorry we're late. It was all Al's fault."

"Liar. What do you want to drink?" Al asks, pulling his wallet out of his pocket and rummaging through one of the sections. "And can I get anyone else anything?"

"Think we're all good," replies Yoshi brightly. "Thanks for asking, though."

"Ooh, tea please - English Breakfast if they've got it. Want any help carrying?"

"No, you go ahead and sit down. I'll bring it over."

"Thanks, Al." I settle down in a chair facing the window and fiddle absent-mindedly with one of the complimentary monogrammed napkins dotted around on the table top.

"How's it going, Sunny?"

"Not too bad, Saff. You?"

"Just about surviving. MODA is killing me slowly."

"Actually, MODA is bearable; it's neurology that will have me six feet under."

"Stop it, you two!" Judith remonstrates. "We made a pact not to talk about the E word, remember?"

"What else do we have to talk about at the moment? I mean, it's my life right now!"

"Ronnie, you're supposed to be backing me up not cutting me down," says Judith dryly, sipping her coffee. "And some of us have been doing other things, not just 'you know what'."

"Like Al," sniggers Leonard looking pointedly at me. I raise my middle finger back at him.

"So fucking crude, Lenbot."

"What have I missed?" Al asks, arriving with two mugs, one of which he places in front of me with a grimace. "I hope that's weak enough for you?"

I peer into the cup and note the vaguely beige colour. "Perfect, thanks."

"You haven't missed anything, Al. Lenny was just being tasteless as usual."

"Ah, it's good to know that nothing's changed. You look very happy, Yoshi."

"Err, yeah," he replies. "Had some good news this morning."

"Ooh, care to enlighten us?" Saffron shifts forward eagerly in her seat to listen.

"Yeah, okay. Umm, you remember that scholarship I applied for, to study at Harvard next year? Well, I only went and got it," admits Yoshi, turning a spectacularly fluorescent shade of pink and grinning bashfully.

"Congratulations, you superstar!"

"That's fantastic, Yoshi!"

"I knew you'd get it, my little Cherry Bakewell!" Leonard claps Yoshi on the back, nearly flattening the poor guy. "So impressive!"

"Really well-deserved!"

"Cheers," mumbles Yoshi, completely embarrassed now.

"Any idea what you'll be studying?"

"Nah." Yoshi shakes his head. "They've given me a list of possible topics and research projects but I don't have to choose until September."

"What about the rest of us mere mortals?" Leonard asks, looking around at us all. "What Part II degrees have we all signed up for next year?"

"Pharmacology," says Judith promptly. "If I don't get in, my second choice is Biochemistry."

"Oh! I've applied for Biochemistry," says Veronica. "I really enjoyed MIMS in first year."

"You…enjoyed MIMS," says Saffron faintly, looking quite horrified at the prospect.

I laugh. "I hated MIMS too! I'm doing my Part II in Anthropology. Really didn't fancy anything lab-based."

"Fair enough," replies Leonard. "Each to their own. I'd much rather do a laboratory research project than a library dissertation. Hence why I'm hoping for Pathology next year. What have you opted for, Saff?"

"History and Philosophy of Science. I'll be keeping Sunny company in the library instead of sweating it out in some disgusting laboratory," she grins, holding up her palm at me for a high-five. "What's your plan for Part II's, Al?"

"Oh. Well. Actually, I'm going to be studying elsewhere next year too," he says quietly, looking faintly uncomfortable.

What?

The air around me seems to suddenly thicken with a deafening silence; I can hear the whoosh of arterial blood as it courses past my ears.

Al wont be here next year?

No!

Is it my imagination, or is he avoiding eye contact with me?

Why didn't he tell me?

My heart starts plummeting down what feels like an Empire State Building-sized elevator shaft.

"Oh wow, have you applied to Boston as well? That would be so cool if you're going there too!" squeals Yoshi, excitement getting the better of him. "We could share a flat!"

No, Yoshi. It would fucking well not be 'so cool' if Al disappears to Boston for a year.

And what am I supposed to do if Al's not here next year?

"Umm, I'm not going to Boston."

Thank fuck for that.

"So where are you off to, then? I know Cornell, Dartmouth, ETH Zurich and Sorbonne were on the scholarship list. Or are you going to be based elsewhere in the UK?"

I hold my breath, willing him to say 'Oxford' or 'Nottingham' or some other similarly accessible place that offers a medical course. Somewhere on a direct train-line with Cambridge. UEA in Norwich, for example. Or one of the London universities. I hear King's College London would love to host a student of Al's calibre for a year. Please, Universe; I'm begging you with everything I have.

"None of those, actually." Al pauses to take a deep breath before continuing. "I'll be heading to Peru."

Of course, the Universe was never, ever going to hand me a simple 'Happy Ever After' when it sprung Al on me, was it? My abdomen constricts painfully, and I can't decide whether I want to faint or cry, or do both at the same time. What a bombshell to drop.

"Oh…wow," replies Leonard with a beaming grin, glancing from me to Al and back again. "Guess you two will be doing the whole long-distance relationship thing, then? Lucky you, Sunny. Lima is a fabulous place to visit!"

"I'm not going to be based in Lima." Al is sounding more and more uncomfortable by the minute. "I'll be doing field-based research in a much more rural location. Middle of the Andes, in fact."

"Can't be many fields in the Andes," jokes Leonard, stopping short as he catches sight of my frozen expression. The grin slides off his face and his eyebrows shoot up, as though he's only just realised what this might mean for me.

I fidget awkwardly, forcing myself to look away from Leonard and focus on Al instead. I feel cold, numb, completely tongue-tied as I try to force my features into a happy smile. What the fuck am I supposed to say?

"What will you be studying, Al? Sounds very exciting!"

"Um, infectious zoonotic diseases," he mumbles after a pause. "A particularly rare type of virus."

"Cutting edge research! Amazing! Well I know you and Yoshi will do Cambridge proud."

"So when exactly were you going to tell me, then?"

The weather has changed in synchrony with my mood. It was bright sunshine earlier; now the sky has turned to slate and a cold wind whips furiously through the tiny street which is hosting our argument. I fold my arms tightly against my chest.

"For fuck's sake, I'm sorry! I had no idea it would be such a big deal. Why are you getting so worked up about it?"

"Is that it? A simple apology and it's all forgotten?"

"No, of course not, but there's no need to make such a big deal out of it."

A big deal? A BIG DEAL?

It's a fucking huge deal.

Al spending a year in Peru is not like Al taking up residence in Manchester or Glasgow or even Madrid. He's moving whole continents and time-zones away. He'll be just waking up when I'm finishing university for the day.

I can feel myself winding up into a flaming ball of fury, vaguely aware of the tiny voice in the recesses of my brain which is telling me to stop digging this trench and just think through what I'm saying.

Right now, thinking is for losers, and reacting violently is for champions.

"A big deal? For fuck's sake, it IS a big deal. Well, it is to me anyway," I retort angrily, getting well into my stride. "I'm just expected to accept it quietly and not make a fuss? Not that I'd stop you - Hell, you can do what the fuck you like! You should have told me earlier, that's all."

"When was I supposed to tell you? Should I have casually dropped it into an introduction? "Hi, I'm Al Potter and I'll be in Peru next year?" Yeah right," he snorts derisively. "It might surprise you to learn that I can choose what I reveal and to whom. You'll just have to accept that not everything is within your control."

"And what the fuck's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what it's supposed to mean," he replies with frustrating calmness. "Getting your knickers in a knot over something you think I should have told you, when actually, it's my news and therefore my choice to divulge as I see fit."

By now, I'm absolutely fucking boiling with rage, but mirroring Al's irritatingly cool approach, I stand my ground and reiterate tersely, "you could have told me sooner!"

"Why? What difference would it have made?"

"You deliberately withheld information that prevented me from making an informed decision!" I reply furiously. "I might have decided not to be your girlfriend."

As soon as the words have left my mouth, I feel a tsunami of guilt and regret. I shouldn't have said that. It wouldn't have made any difference whether I knew about Peru or not; I'd have still fallen head-over-heels for Al and have gone tumbling down this exact road.

Why is my luck so lousy? The first guy that I've really, really fancied who actually liked me back, is going away to the other side of the world in five or six months. For a whole year.

Universe, you are a fucking cruel beast.

"Really?" says Al coldly, turning away. "Well, if that's the decision you're making, then be my guest."

Oh fuck. What have I said?

I stare at him, alarmed. A tide of crimson is washing over my neck and face as my heart beats a horrified tattoo in my chest. Is this how we end, barely minutes after we've started?

"And you're fine with that?" I whisper, shivering as though I've been enveloped in an ice tomb.

He turns back around to assess me scornfully. "You know, I was planning on discussing it thoroughly with you, but clearly there's no point now."

Without saying another word, I pivot on my heel and storm away in the direction of St John's college.

He doesn't follow me.

I hate it when I cry.

Crying is such an emotional weakness, and it makes me despise myself even more than my baseline self-loathing usually allows.

Plus it does nothing for my appearance whatsoever.

I stay tucked away in my room for the rest of the day, too emotionally incapacitated to do anything more than wallow in self pity on my bed. I briefly attempt some neurology revision, but give it up within twenty minutes.

When there's a knock on my door at about half-past four, my heart leaps - maybe, just maybe Al has come around to apologise and talk things over? When I open the door to see Gabi standing there, my spirits plummet once again.

"Sunny! Fancy a break…oh hey, what the Hell's up?" she demands, her concerned brown eyes taking in my blotchy face and rumpled appearance.

"Peru," I reply, choking back a sob that threatens to overwhelm me.

"Pardon?"

"He…Al…Fucking Peru, of all places! Next year. Just…oh bollocks."

I turn away as tears begin to cascade down my cheeks.

"Al's going to Peru next year?" Gabriela manages to decipher out of that incoherent mess, fuck only knows how. Girl must be psychic; there's no other explanation. "Oh Sunny; I'm sorry to hear that, love."

My friend throws her arms around me in a fierce hug.

"Why's life so shit?" I sniff sorrowfully into her shoulder.

"Sunny, don't! It's not shit, darling! I know you'll probably hate me for saying this, but, you know, it's only for a year. The situation is really not as bad as you're making it out to be. If you two are meant to stay together, your relationship will last the distance. And if you're not…well, it wouldn't have mattered if he was going to stay in Cambridge or not, would it?"

Gabriela pushes me out of her arms to gaze at me fondly.

"It's not just that, Gabi…I…I…well, you know how reactive I get…and…and…I flew off the fucking handle, and I think…I think it's…well…over between us."

"Ah." The smile drops from Gabriela's face and she immediately presses me into her embrace again.

"Seriously, Gabi, this is the shortest relationship in the history of mankind. I feel such a failure. Why am I so fucking incapable of keeping a boyfriend?" I wail dismally, getting into my full self-pitying stride.

"Darling, you could always talk to him, you know? Text him if you're not up for a phone call. But maybe he needs some time to think about it too. I mean, I'm sure this isn't one-sided."

"He's probably so angry with me, and rightfully so. I mean, I would be too! Why does my stupid gob always run away with me? But then why did he let me go without saying anything? That's what fucking hurts the most right now."

"How about a nice cup of chamomile tea?"

"Will it turn back time so this never happened, or make everything okay again?"

"Well no, but it's soothing and rehydrating, and right now, you look like you could use a hot drink and some fluids."

"Okay," I sniffle pathetically.

By six o'clock, regardless of whose fault it was, I'd give anything to talk to Al, hear his voice, apologise profusely. I stare at my mobile phone, my finger poised for several seconds over Al's name. He hasn't rung or texted me, but perhaps I should be the bigger person and make the first attempt.

Plucking up courage and inwardly wincing, I press 'call' and hold the phone to my ear, bracing myself for a dialling tone followed by Al's familiar greeting.

There's no dialling tone at all. Instead, a smooth, monotone female voice announces that "The number you have called is unavailable right now. Please try again later," before the line goes dead.

Oh fuck. If he's switched his phone off, it's really over now, isn't it?