Hawksmoor Restaurant was far beyond my league. It is located inside a Grade II former Victorian Courthouse, visited by mostly working-class groups and bourgeois for either pre or post theatre meals or just wanting to be fed.

The restaurant has a distinctive palatial interior without being ostentatious. The almost seasoned parquet wooden flooring with brand new furniture and fittings resemblance of post WW2 era complemented a balanced feature of outmode refurbishment.

We were taken to a table by the window where the menus were placed. Milla browsed through the menu briefly and ordered hake & cockles within seconds as though she's regular. I scanned through for anything that corresponds to my dietary restriction and ordered dover sole. She ordered a glass of Château Labadie for herself and a glass of fizzy water for me.

"Have you ever tasted spirits before?" she asked after the waiter left, commenced the soliciting. She had her elbow on the table, propping up her chin. "Have you ever gone beyond your religious boundaries?"

"I might have," I answered frankly. "But it was an unintentional occasion during a spring break trip with my grandad in Pompeii. A local vendor offered a sample of refreshment and we thought it was a harmless juice. Then I realised that it wasn't. The stinging sensation went straight into my nasal bridge I almost toppled. I can't forget the horrified look on that poor old lady's face when it happened."

She laughed at my story. "Yeah, that'd be bound to happen. I was a sloppy drinker myself and couldn't control my balance during my first shot. But you could have a go at it if you want to, right? I mean as long as it doesn't intoxicate you to an extent."

I gave myself a pause before saying anything, deciding whether she was trying to get me into drinking or just genuinely curious.

"Well, there are various schools of thoughts to it, yeah." I began, trying not to sound like an academician. "Some say it's unlawful or what we call it haram. Some, likewise to your statement, claim that as long as you don't get drunk it's fine because alcohol is inevitable. Some are in between but allowing it only when necessary. While others just couldn't be bothered and wanted to fit in. Opinions vary depending on individuals, either rigid or liberal or moderate."

"How about you? Which creed do you belong to?"

"I grew up with a pious family but aren't that strict," I explained. "We resume our lives like everybody else but with certain limitations including consumption of alcohol. So, yeah we are those who abstain from liquor at all costs including our cooking."

"So do you practice the same?"

"There are things I chose to follow and there are that I don't. I refuse to oblige to cover up with scarves just to maintain modesty and privacy from my male relatives and friends. Although it is a requirement, I find that sexist." I explained to which she nodded. "But I chose not to drink nor have any of its substance into my food. I can live with that."

"Was it difficult for you, though, to accommodate two contradicting practices growing up?" she asked again.

"On the contrary, I think it was hard for my parents to raise me and my brother in a liberal country like this, yeah. But they've succeeded. The thing about them is that they prepped us with logical explanations as to why some things are forbidden, consequences of it during the afterlife or whatever ammo we need when we are out on our own making decisions."

"You guys keeping in touch?" she asked further.

"They died in a car crash in Canada involving a herd of caribou and a trailer," I replied calmly and to this she mouthed sorry. "It's alright, I'm okay now. Their death bonded me with my grandad back in Kuala Lumpur and I became resilient to anything morbid, in a way."

I studied her face for any reaction. She frowned and placed her palm against the back of my hand. The waiter came in with our drinks and departed. She raised her glass of wine in the air and made a toast to my dead family members. I raised my fizzy drink and we both took a sip.