About two and a half hours later, Spock and I had finished our dinner, and were still talking. This was the longest I had spent with him, and yet, if it were not for my Vulcan internal clock, I would have sworn it had only been a minute. I began to understand Shraz and his two-hour preparation; because, just maybe, Spock might have thought that I was attractive. That was more a hope than a fact, because I knew better than to think that my crush liked me as well, especially with such a gigantic age difference between us.
"Well, T'Strei, I am afraid I must leave now. It has been a pleasure talking to you."
"Alright. Thank you very much, Spock. I hope we will be able to do this again."
He got up, and walked over to my chair. I was expecting him to leave immediately, but instead, he stood beside me for another second. I looked up at him. His hand trailed lightly down my arm, the sudden touch surprising me. His hand reached mine, lifting it off my lap. His eyes not once leaving mine, his fingers curled around my own, his hand swallowing mine. His skin was dry and parchmentlike, but his touch was extraordinarily gentle.
"Goodnight, T'Strei." He muttered, his fingers slowly rubbing the back of my hand.
"Goodnight, Spock." I answered. He let my hand slide out of his grasp, taking one last look at me before he walked away.
I sat there for a few seconds, trying to make sense of that. Was that affectionate? Was there any way he shared my feelings, and that somehow, we could be together? I still felt the ghost of his touch. It felt exciting.
I got up from the table, deciding I should search for Shraz, and thank him. I looked over the room. The crowd had thinned out a bit, since it was 21:30 hours. I located said Andorian pretty quickly. He was holding a drink, chatting (most likely flirting) with a tall, brawny stereotypical-handsome type human with dark eyes and salt-and-pepper hair. I sighed. I hoped my friend wouldn't get rejected, but he needed to stop flirting with older men. Which is something I should think about, too.
I walked out of the room, entering the quiet, darkened hallway. As I trudged towards my quarters, I couldn't stop my thoughts from turning back to him. I was still trying to understand why Captain Spock had asked me to dinner, let alone why he held my hand. I think I not only liked him, but even worse, I loved him. I couldn't help it. My training on Vulcan had taught me to suppress my human side, but I couldn't hold this emotion in. He was perfect. Old enough to be my father, and even more stubbornly emotionless than me, yes, but perfect nonetheless. I wondered if it was possible to have a relationship with him. An older Vulcan? That had been a secret fantasy I had had since I was a young teenager. Any love was a fantasy for me, actually. As a child, I was unusually gifted, even for a Vulcan. My parents decided to not arrange my marriage when I was the age, so that I could focus on my studies and eventually join Starfleet, like my father. At the time, I had no problem with the plan, but as I aged, it became hard for me. I was not allowed to fall in love with anyone. I trained myself not to. So Spock was my first love. All that pent-up emotion from over the years had gone into him, I knew it. And, I realized, there was no getting it out.