At university, I had three gay friends who understood one another’s predicament and the intricate lies required to keep our secret. They told me about these parties, in the apartments of other gay men and trans women who transformed their homes with sound systems, lights and homemade alcohol into club nights behind closed doors. I longed for and dreaded an invite, wondering if I was ready to be let loose with the biggest circle of gay men I’d been among, worrying I’d see someone I knew, afraid of the morality police and, more so, my parents finding out. There were so many layers of haram – forbidden behaviour – what would I tell them?