Year 11 was finally over.

After weeks of studying for GCSEs, constant stressing, ugly breakouts and guilty procrastinating, it was all finally done.

"Whooo!" Saskia raised her shot in the air, screaming in joy.

I politely raised my lemon water towards her and gave her the most fake smile I could pull.
I felt anything but joyful, the end of year marked nothing but the beginning of a even more stressful A-levels.

Saskia then dragged the rest of my friends towards the centre of the dance floor as the next song began to play.

Frankly, they all looked ridiculous, but they didn't seem to care.
And that's probably what I loved about them the most.

I smiled at them as they continued with their shenaginans, wondering if this may be our last night together.
Whether I'd actually stay friends with them a few years from now.
Sudden sadness hit me, there were so many negative feelings with the end of secondary school, and I just wasn't ready to face it yet.

So ever so carefully picking through the crowd of my fancy dressed classmates, making sure not to step on the silk skirts of anyone, I made my way towards the food table.

There was the punch that I knew was spiked.

But I couldn't bring myself to care anymore, as I took a cup and poured some of the contents in, before drowning it.

And another cup.

And another.

"Whoa, sheesha. Leave some for the others too." A voice called besides me.

I inclined my head to the left and glared at my soon to be former class mate, Mikhail.
He was surely the one person I'd not be missing at the end of this.

"Go away." I drawled, feeling a little unstable.

"How many have you had?" He asks.

"Three. I dare you to have some." I say.

"Nope, it's probably spiked."

"I just had three. There isn't a trace of alcohol in this." I lied.

He frowned for a few seconds, doubting my words. But then shrugged and grabbed himself a cup, before filling it up.

"Challenge accepted." He grinned.

The night continued and we drank until we forgot we hated each other, his suit had a few wet stains and so did my dress.
We stumbled outside eventually, into the timidly windy darkness of the British summer.

"You said it wasn't spiked." Mikhail said, mock accusation in his voice.

"I lied." Giggling like I'd always swore I wouldn't.

"That's haram, sheesha." He laughed as he said this.

"Why do you call me that?" I ask in genuine curiosity.

"Cause you're smoking hot, like sheesha." He says, no playing around like usual.

This time I laugh.

Mikhail then extends a hand towards me, palm face up. I look at the details of his almost manly hands, the muscles that have tightened.
My eyes then settle on the watch his wearing, and I have the sudden urge to yank it off and expose the skin beneath.

I suddenly want to see him naked.

So I put my hand in his, and step closer to him.

"Let's be haram for a bit more."

👄

So, any first thoughts?