...see the Indian girl standing a foot away from your face.

Startled out of your wits, you jerk back a step, losing your balance and falling flat on your ass onto the cold, hard sidewalk.

"HOLY SHIT," you yell, your voice about an octave higher than normal, eyes wide. "Where the hell did you come from?" She just giggles at this, and extends her arm out to you. As your racing heart calms down a bit and you focus, you see that she's wearing a puffy scarlet winter coat that extends down past her skirt's hemline, a knitted white hat, and what appear to be fur-lined brown leather boots. Apparently, the combination of them muffled her approach enough that you had no idea she was there.

You reach your own hand out, and she swiftly pulls you up with surprising strength. She doesn't stop when you're on your feet, though; she pulls you close, so the two of you are touching (albeit with several inches of winter padding between you). Your mouth opens a bit in surprise, and she takes the opportunity to lean forward and shove her tongue deep into your mouth. Again. You're torn between simply giving into the soft, sensual, warm, wet feeling of her kiss, and pulling away, knowing that this whole thing is the result of a really stupid mistake on your part. But your hormones get the better of you, and you go with it for a bit, until she finally breaks the kiss and steps back. "Hey, sweetie," she says with a roguish smile. "Fancy running into you here."

"Uh, yeah," you reply, and she bends down to pick up something on the ground. You realize after a second that it's a pile of books, secured by a strap; she must have placed them down in order to help you up after you fell. Your eyes land on the cover of the notebook on the top of the pile; written there in Sharpie, in big, black letters, is "Smita Prasad".

Oh thank goodness, you silently cheer, I finally know the name of the stalker girl who believes she's my girlfriend! She still doesn't know yours, of course, and you wonder how she's justifying that. The thought worries you a bit; what sort of strange fiction would a brain invent in order to explain being a relationship with someone whose name you don't even know? You decide that you'll give her a bit of a break, lest you find out.

"Yep, that's us," you say, a bit too loudly, swinging your arms back and forth, looking for all the world like the worst actor ever. "Smita and Sam, running into each other out here on the sidewalk." You smile what must be the most ridiculous, toothy grin at her, and you can feel the heat of embarrassment on your cheeks as you critique your own incredibly awkward attempt at casually letting her know your name.

If she finds it strange, though, she gives no sign. "Sorry for scaring you," she says with a smile that makes you think she's really not all that sorry at all. "I just wanted to surprise you. By the way, who was that girl you were talking with just now?"

A chill suddenly runs through your blood, and it has nothing to do with the brisk air. To an outward observer, her query might seem like an innocuous, friendly question, but there's something in her demeanor that seems... off. Her voice retains the exact same lilt, her smile is still wide, but her eyes... you can't pinpoint exactly what it is about them, but they seem different. Like she's telepathically informing you that she'd better like the next few words that come out of your mouth, or you might end up as an indistinct reddish smear on the nearest wall.

You swallow hard and manage a goofy smile. "Oh," you say, your voice cracking slightly, "that's just Amanda... we, uh, met this morning, and she accidentally bumped into me and wanted to apologize."

"That's nice," she says, her expression totally unchanged, her voice still syrupy and sweet. "I'll have to meet her sometime too. You know... get to know her." You make a mental note to keep the two of them as far apart from each other as possible at all times.

You could use the Manipulator, your id suggests. Make her forget she ever flashed you. Wouldn't that fix it?

Would it? you counter. It's been hours now, and all that time she's believed she's my girlfriend. Plus, she confronted me in an empty classroom, stuck her hand down my pants, and French-kissed me -- twice. Exactly what happens to her if I erase all of that? No, I have to try and deal with this situation as best as I can.

You clear your throat. "Well!" you say, as cheerily as possible. "I'll have to talk to you later, uh, honey... I have to head home to meet my... family." This is a bald-faced lie; your mom is still at work, and your sister is at school. But alarm bells are ringing in your head, and you really want to get away from this situation.

"Oh," she says, clearly a bit disappointed, and for a moment you feel for her. Then you remember that look in her eyes when you talked about Amanda. "Well, I guess I'll see you later, honey!" She leans in to kiss you again, and this time you lead her a bit, making sure it's a small kiss. Slinging her book strap over her shoulder, she walks off back in the direction of campus, and you resume walking in the other direction, towards home. After about a block, you glance over your shoulder, and she's nowhere to be seen; she must have turned a corner. You let out a huge, ragged sigh, and increase your pace slightly. No more surprises until I'm home, you pray.