Author's Note: I just wanted to let everyone know that the Doctor in this story isn't the tenth Doctor, but he is based on the tenth (he is my favorite.). Please feel free to leave comments and questions! Any constructive criticism would be appreciated. Thank you!

The Day I Met the Doctor

The day I met the doctor was a normal Friday.

And it was also Valentine's Day.

God, I hate this holiday. All of the lovey-dovey crap that I see floating around, or the couples I see being especially affectionate on this particular day just…ugh. I think I dislike this holiday so much because I'm not in a relationship and seeing all the romantic junk just reminds me of what I don't have and it makes me feel disconnected from everyone.

But, again, I digress.

My days have a usual routine of wake up, go to work, go to class, go back to my dorm, and then do whatever.

So I was at work on this particular Friday, taking cardboard boxes outside to be recycled. As I was tossing the cardboard into the recycling machine, I noticed a man wandering around. This guy obviously wasn't another employee because he seemed…confused. He wore a long-sleeved, scarlet turtleneck tucked into slate-gray jeans that looked almost too short on his long legs. He also wore black, high-top Converse shoes and a long, tan coat with several pockets. He had messy brown hair, like he had just rolled out of bed and forgot to brush it.

I tried my best to continue with my work, but I kept stealing glances at him. There was just something familiar about him. Suddenly, he looked at me and he tried to casually walk over to me, but his pace seemed a bit rushed.

"I'm so sorry to bother you," he said, "but I was hoping you could help me?" His voice had a heavy British accent and he spoke quickly as if he was in a hurry.

"Yeah, sure," I answered politely. "What do you need help with?"

"Could you perhaps tell me what year this is? I know that might sound a bit daft, but it's very important," he explained, noticing the questioning expression on my face.

"Oh, it's no problem," I assured. "It's 2014."

"Oh, alright then," he said mostly to himself, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "And could you tell me where I am?"

"Umm, we're in the United States," I answered, wondering to myself how many drinks this guy must have had last night, "and in the Pacific Northwest."

"Huh, fascinating," he said to himself. After a few more moments, he appeared to snap out of his thoughts and said, "Alright then! I must be off! Oh, here. For your trouble." He took my hand in both of his and pressed a piece of paper in my palm. I started to draw my hand away, preparing to explain that I wasn't allowed to accept tips, but before I could say a word, he quickly said:

"It's not money. And between you and me, this tip is a lot more valuable." He gazed right into my eyes, a serious look in his light brown eyes. I suddenly realized why he looked so familiar: he was almost the spitting image of David Tennant from Doctor Who. There was just enough about his face that was different, but he could have been David Tennant's stunt double for all I knew. His accent was even spot on.

He then patted my hand gently and walked past me to the sidewalk. I turned around but to my shock, he was gone. Like he had never been there.

"What the…?" I said to myself. I was ready to believe that it had just been a figment of my imagination since I hadn't gotten a lot of sleep last night, but when I glanced down at my hand, the folded slip of paper he had given me was still there.

I opened the piece of paper and my brows instantly furrowed. Written on the piece of paper in a messy scrawl was:

Don't go back to your room.