Here you go. In honour of the fun going on right now at WFCTGIO a new chapter at last!

It's after Perfect Moment time... This is from Christian's POV. Hope you enjoy :) x

'Was that my Dad?' he asks quietly.

He doesn't shout, nowhere near. But I can hear the fear in his voice, fear that will soon turn into full-blown panic.

'I don't think he saw you,' I say. Because I can't say it wasn't Masood. I know it was. And I'm pretty sure he recognised me. He might not have seen it was Syed with me though. Maybe. Possibly.

I mean, surely he would have said something? Wouldn't he? God, I don't know. But it's no time for me to analyse what I'm thinking or feeling right now. Sy is in a right state.

I sit up and rake a hand through my hair. My heart is pounding, I can't believe this is happening. Syed is already scrambling up from the floor, shrugging on his jacket and rushing to the door.

'Why didn't you lock the door?' he asks me.

I don't appreciate the hint of accusation in his voice. Like this is my fault. Like I wanted this to happen. Well, didn't you? a quiet but insistent voice challenges me inside my own head. I ignore it as best I can.

'I thought you did,' is all I say in reply.

'What if it was him? What if he saw us?' he says.

So what if he has? I want to retort. But I don't. Because it's blatantly obvious he won't thank me for it.

'If he'd seen us, he'd have said something,' I answer. If I sound short, well, he'll just have to deal with it. Because this awful feeling is gnawing at my gut, this feeling of how I've been here before. That once again, everything is the same. That no matter what we'd just shared, he'll still deny me.

'Maybe… he didn't see it was me,' he says cautiously. Like he doesn't dare believe it.

'Exactly,' I agree with him.

'But if he did see me… he'll kill me,' he says.

And that's what does it. I let go of my resentment, let go of my feelings of hurt. Because as hard as it is for me to find myself in this position once again, I know it's harder for him. He really believes his life will be over if everyone found out about him. About us. And didn't I feel the same once? Haven't I seen countless men and women who have all gone through the same thing? I know how hard this is, and with him being Muslim… If he needs more time, well, I'll just have to cope with that. And be there for him when he finally decides to make the leap. Because he will. I have to believe that he will.

I take a deep breath and steady myself. I can give him some more time. I can. But not much. I feel like I'm about to snap. Just a little while longer, I tell myself. And I try to believe it.

'Look, why don't you just stay here,' I suggest, as gently as I can.

'No, I need to know,' he responds.

'Then I'm coming with you,' I say instantly. I'm not going to let him go through this on his own.

'No look… please just… go home. I'll call you,' he implores.

He turns to walk away from me, and all I can think is no. He's not going to shut me out, I won't let him. Not now. Not again. I grab his arm to stop him and say: 'If he did see you. Maybe it's time to come clean'.

He doesn't answer me. Not really. He just looks at me and repeats: 'I'll call you'.

I can feel him slipping away from me. He gives me one of those lingering looks, those looks that tell me all about how he loves me, needs me, cares for me. But then he leaves. Just like he always does.

He's gone. I let my head fall back and sigh.

~c~s~

'Finally'.

One word. It's all I can say, after I've been waiting for God knows how long for him to fucking finally call me. It feels like forever since he walked away from me, but it can't be more than an hour or so.

'Yeah I know, I'm sorry I couldn't get back to you before,' he says, sounding apologetic.

I tried to be patient, tried to wait for him to call me as he promised he would. I held out longer than I thought I was capable of in fact. But after lots of pacing up and down the flat, flicking obsessively from channel to channel on my TV, having a drink and then another, I caved. I texted him, asking him the one thing I absolutely need to know. The one thing I ask him now, now that he's finally called me.

'What's going on? Talk to me Syed', I say.

'No no no, it's ok', he answers.

He sounds terse, distracted. I can't help resenting him for that, when he is all I can think about.

'So you told him', I state while pouring myself another shot of whiskey. Because he hasn't. I know he hasn't. I know him too well.

'No. He saw you, but not me', he confirms my suspicions.

I don't respond. Because what is there to say, really?

'Christian…'

'So nothing has changed', I conclude. I head over to the sofa and sit down. I knew this was how it was going to be. Knew Syed wouldn't tell if he wasn't forced to. I have no right to feel this disappointed. But I do.

'The important thing is it buys us some more time', he says. He sounds rushed, absent almost.

'Yeah yeah', I respond, 'That's the important thing'.

My sarcasm is completely lost on him. I empty my drink in one big gulp. God I hate this. I want to take hold of his shoulders and bloody well shake some sense into him. Or into me. I can't believe I keep doing this to myself…

'Look I should go', he says.

'Don't shut me out like this Sy', I warn him.

'I'll call you when I can', is his only response.

'Syed', I try, 'Sy…'

But I know he's gone. He's hung up, gone back to them. A one minute phone call is as much as I'm going to get from him apparently.

Fuck this. Fuck Syed. I slam my hand down on the coffee table in frustration. It doesn't help. I stalk back to the kitchen, fill up my glass and gulp it down. Doesn't help either.

Sighing, I let my head droop down in defeat. I feel so powerless, my life so utterly dependent on what everyone else is going to do. And I hate it. I really don't think I can live like this much longer. But that's all it seems to be taking. Longer.

Syed doesn't want things to change. I know that. But it still fucking hurts. I don't think he realises how much. Or no, to be fair, I know he doesn't, not really. He's far too wrapped up in his own troubles, his own deceit, to realise how much of a toll this is taking on me.

I should tell him to stop. Tell him to go away, leave me alone.

But we've been there before, haven't we. And as bad as I feel now, it's nothing compared to how I'll feel without him. I groan aloud before taking a deep breath. This is so fucked up…

I have a terrible night. I lay awake most of it, tossing and turning, cursing at myself, my life, him… And when I finally do fall asleep, I dream about us. About being with him, really with him. Kissing in public, not apologising, no Amira, no Masoods, nothing but us.

It's wonderful. And then I wake up.

I hate this.

I wonder what he's doing right now. If he's sound asleep, peaceful in the knowledge that he's safe and nothing has to change. If he's cuddled up with his wife. If he's imagining that it's me instead. Over and over again I keep tormenting myself with these kind of thoughts until I finally drift off to sleep again in the early hours of the morning.

~c~s~

When I catch up with him the next day, he's just headed out the door with a food order.

'I'll walk with you', I offer, keeping pace beside him.

'It's just across the road,' he says, but he smiles and walks with me.

'So, what's up with your Dad?' I ask.

He sighs and looks troubled.

'I don't know,' he says. 'I don't think he knows it was me. He would have said something, surely'.

I give a non-committal grunt in reply.

Sy continues: 'He is being weird. Dad's not convinced…'

Here we go again. Suddenly, I've had enough. I don't care how difficult this is for him, don't care what a massive deal this is for him. I'm fed up.

'You know what', I interrupt him, 'let's just knock it on the head'.

That seems to stop him in his tracks. He looks at me, hesitating, unsure.

'Well what?' I continue, ' Do you think you're the only person to imagine no more lying, leaving, coming back again like some demented yoyo'.

He snorts at the demented yoyo remark which frustrates me further.

'No', I go on as I start walking again. 'Cause I'm the idiot doing it. Ducking round your family one more time…'

'Yeah, I know. But…' he tries to interrupt me, to comfort me I think. But I'm having none of it.

'If it is too much like hard work Sy… just say the word'.

There, I've said it.

He doesn't talk, just follows me to Mrs Nasiri's house where we drop off the food. I smile at her, joke with her, like everything's normal. Syed on the other hand is quiet, doesn't say more than he absolutely has to.

When she heads back into her house, I turn to Syed and say: 'I think it's best if I go now. I'll talk to you later, yeah?'

I don't pretend that I'm alright. I don't think I have the energy left to try it if I wanted to.

He looks at me, shakes his head and beckons me to follow him round the corner. And I do, I always do. He leads me to a deserted part of the street, I can hear the noises from the bustling market, a car starting, normal street noise for this time of day. But right here, right now, there isn't anyone around.

He startles me as he grabs my hand, squeezes it and whispers: 'I'm sorry. I'm sorry, really I am'.

He lets go of my hand in the next moment and starts walking again.

'I know,' I admit.

I stop to lean against the wall and sigh heavily. I'm so tired. Tired of fighting, tired of not being with him, tired of having this conversation all over again.

'Look you know… how I feel', he says, sounding cautious.

And when I look into his eyes, I do know. I can see it, his love for me, the guilt, the confusion… And I realise that he's tired too. Neither of us can let the other one go. In truth, I simply don't want to. And I don't think he does either. I think that's what makes me give in.

'Ok, I'll talk to your Dad, make sure he buys this whole…', I grudgingly concede.

'Oh brilliant, I can't wait to hear that really natural conversation', he mutters morosely.

'Will you stop moaning you old Quentin!' I scold him. 'I know it's not perfect'.

He looks at me, taken aback.

'Did you just call me… and old Quentin?' he tries.

Suddenly I can't do anything but laugh at the silliness of it all.

'What, and now you're laughing?' he asks. I think he's going for indignant, but I can see that he's smiling too.

Thankful for the moment of relief, I relax a little. It's good to realise that it's still him, it's still me, us. And that's all that really matters.

'As long as me and you are honest', I say, fully serious again now.' We'll be alright. It can't stay like this forever'.

'Honestly?' he asks me.

And that's when I see it. He doesn't want things to stay like this forever. He does want to be with me, really with me. He just doesn't know how.

'Honestly,' I promise him.

He gives me a weak smile before he turns and walks away from me.

~c~s~