But this time, I don’t want the night to end. I still can’t make head or tail of what is happening, but I know for absolute certain that I don’t want Daphne to leave.

‘Do you want to …’ I begin. But I can’t think of a way to add ‘come back to mine’ without sounding like a massive sleazebag.

Daff must pick up on this dilemma, because she tilts her head at me playfully. ‘Not-Naked Ben, are you asking me back to your room?’

I laugh. ‘Well, yeah. But for entirely innocent reasons, I promise.’

She still looks dubious – which is fair enough, really. I don’t know how to communicate that I am actually telling the truth. As amazing and electrifying as that kiss was, the idea of us going any further honestly hasn’t crossed my mind. I just want more time with her – with this Daphne. This happy, funny, carefree girl who is so different from the woman I live with in 2020. I want to get to know her all over again.

‘A cup of tea,’ I say. ‘That’s all, I swear. If you fancy it?’

She sizes me up with her big brown eyes. And then that amazing smile spreads across her face. ‘OK, yeah. I could murder a cup of tea, actually.’

We wind our way slowly back to my hall of residence. And with every step, I can feel the excitement rising in my chest. Daff loops her arm through mine and shoots me a grin that makes me think she’s feeling the exact same thing.

But then we get to the entrance, and I come face to face with a bulky locked door, and a numbered entry panel beside it.

‘Oh. Shit.’

My heart sinks right into the pit of my stomach.

‘What?’ Daphne asks.

For the hell of it, I punch in 1-2-3-4. No joy. We could be here a while.

‘How drunk are you?’ Daff laughs. ‘Can you really not remember your own door code?’

‘No, hang on, don’t worry … It’ll come to me …’

But obviously it won’t. I’m about to pull my phone out and see if Harv is still awake when I hear someone shout ‘WAHEY!’ at a deafening volume behind me.

I turn around to see Geordie Claire standing there, grinning drunkenly, with her massive rugby player boyfriend next to her. Both of them smell strongly of tequila and chilli sauce.

‘Hey, Ben!’ Claire slurs, dragging me into a wobbly hug. ‘So, we both really enjoyed your play. Really, really, really. It was very, erm … original.’

‘Yeah, top work, mate,’ says her boyfriend, whose name escapes me. ‘You were … great.’

‘He was, wasn’t he?’ Daff nods, somehow managing to keep a straight face. ‘He’s a natural hitman.’