You’re scurrying to your night class while the moon shines above, holding a steaming coffee in your left hand and trying to close your bag in the other.

Skilfully dodging people left and right, suddenly there’s someone centre. You bump into her, your coffee narrowly avoiding your shirt and instead splashing all over the contents of your bag.

“Oh, darling, are you alright?”

The figure drawls in an eastern-European accent, manicured hands reaching out and drifting through your hair.