Alan watched Misha as she walked, slinked, slid into the coffee lounge. Her hair, long and wavy bouncing rivulet-curls, hung loose to be pushed back by a dainty ring-lit hand. Her clothes weren't showy, she was not a disciple of the Occident, but the pure exotica of her form was abundant in her every action. Taking a polystyrene cup from the dispenser, she was a courtesan dancer; lifting the jug from the coffee-maker, she was a water-maiden; pouring the coffee, she was spilling ambrosia for the love-gods, for only she had the power to quench their slaking thirst.

"Alright then Meesh. How's it going?" The lumpy young woman with wild hair and a misshaped jumper cast a shroud over Alan's starlit dream. She bustled up to Misha, her skirts billowing as she blew up to her side, and started pouring herself some coffee. "Oh, hello Patsy," said Misha, rubbing out the wondrous spectre she had unwittingly created. "How are you?" "Ooh, you know, still ticking along, you know me, " replied Patsy, with a giggle. "What's up with you love, you're looking a little down?" "Its nothing really, its just this class I'm taking at the moment, " said Misha, down-heartedly, "I don't think I'm making much progress with them." Alan shook his head in disagreement as he watched from around the corner, conveniently obscured by a tall, broad-leaved cheese-plant. "Nonsense," said Patsy, with a mild shriek, "you've been a wonder with these classes, they probably all love you by now!" Alan gave a little sigh as Misha failed to raise her spirits. She fidgeted with her cup in discomfort as Patsy reached out and began prying and poking her face in sympathy. "Come on, love, there must be something else," said Patsy, stroking Misha's chin, "is it that fella you fancy?"

Alan couldn't stop himself from lunging further into the bushy plant.

"Oh him?" said Misha, a coy smile on her lips. "I don't fancy him, he just seems like a nice person, that's all I said." "You can't fool Patsy, darling, I know when someone fancies someone, and you have seriously flipped for this one! Its all so romantic, just bumping into him in the corridor like that?" "He just seemed so lost and bewildered, it was ever so endearing," said Misha, affecting a childish tone in her voice, "it was his first day and he didn't know where to go." "And he needed you to show him, didn't he? How lovely!" swooned Patsy, already lost in the headiness of it all. "And have you spoken to him since?" "Well, I see him every week now, don't I?" "Of course you do, love. So...?" "So what?" asked Misha, tempering her irritation with a breathtaking smile. "Have you made....con-tact?" Patsy uttered the last word in a wide-mouthed whisper. "No, not yet. He probably wouldn't like me, anyway." "Meesh, honey, all the guys fancy the pants off you, you know that. I'd hate you if you weren't such a sweetie!" Alan was a quivering wreck as he stood on unsteady knees and listened from the cheese-plant jungle. The object of his night-dreams was a nervous human after all, and held a candle for a love of her own. Him. Just as she'd said, they had met in the corridor, he had looked like a bewildered lamb, well he was. And she had shown him the way, how true that was. Every week she saw him, she must have seen the way he felt by the lost look in his eyes, in his story about Sulekha, she must know already, why the reticence? He would have to make things clearer, pave the way to letting her know that he felt for her as she did for him.

Perfect.

"Alan, what are you doing with that plant?"