Mark Twain once said that the coldest winter he ever spent was a summer in San Francisco. Today, walking home from class, Christine began to wonder what he would have thought of a San Francisco winter. The rain was more like a very hard mist than anything else. It was cold and she had not brought an umbrella. She should have taken the shuttle, she told herself. For some reason she felt like the exercise would do her good.

She didn't really want to go back to her apartment. Her cupboard was bare and her counter was littered with take out cartons. She had always enjoyed cooking when she was on the Enterprise. It had been such a welcome relief from the stress of the day. And her shipmates seemed to enjoy her simple home cooking.

Now that she was dirt bound she just wasn't interested in it. Somehow it wasn't as much fun to cook for one person after 4 hours studying in the med library.

So she usually picked up something on the way home. Of late her preference had been Chinese food. It was simple, quick and even a little healthy. Bagels on campus for breakfast and Chinese for dinner, when she actually took the time to eat. Long study hours and a steady intake of coffee in large doses were usually her diet.

Today, however, something about the empty streets and the driving rain had made her feel like walking. It was hard to explain, but she felt like the bay was echoing her own loneliness.

She felt lonely in a city of a million people. Lonelier than she had ever felt on the Enterprise.

It seemed like other than her sessions with Don she never even spoke. Weekends had passed and she had not even heard her own voice. For no particular reason, today it felt very sad.

So she walked home, in the cold rain wondering what she would find to eat.

The streets were deserted and the misty rain limited visibility to just a couple of blocks. She saw old-fashioned neon style lights on a corner ahead. As she approached her stomach answered the restaurant's call even before she knew what kind of food they served. Abihruchi - the sign read.

Indian? She thought to herself. It had been ages since she'd had Indian and she couldn't even remember if she cared for it. But she decided to heed her stomach's rumbling and headed in.

The room was small, with only 4 booths along a wall and a few round tables in the center of the room. The sweet humid scent of fresh homemade food mingled with thick incense and tea. For a long moment Christine stood in the doorway. Then a large beautiful Indian woman came from the kitchen. She wore deep purple hand embroidered silk with shining gold trim.

She walked quickly and softly to where Christine stood, "Welcome, please come in." She gestured to a booth near the kitchen. "May I bring you some chai to warm you up?" She asked as Christine sat down.

"Yes please."

And the woman disappeared into the kitchen. The moment she crossed the threshold she shrieked "Maleek! We have a dinner customer. Get a plate going, and better make it a big one, she's a little tiny thing."

Christine smiled. Evidently this was not a restaurant that relied on replicators and menus.

The lovely Indian woman returned with a steaming cup of creamy tea. Cardamom, cinnamon and tea combined with scents that she couldn't identify. The cup was hot as she raised it to her mouth. The flavors were delightful. She smiled.

Sweet strains of sitar music and amazing tapestries in red and gold surrounded Christine. The warmth of the kitchen and the sweet tea lulled her into a comfortable reverie.

A dark pair of brown eyes peered around the kitchen door at her curiously. Christine waved playfully, "Hello there, little one."

The head disappeared quickly.

The woman returned with a platter of colorful steaming foods and a small plate of flat bread. "Here you are my dear and don't worry it's all vegetarian." And she turned to leave.

"Vegetarian?"

"Oh I'm sorry. I just thought..."

"What makes you think I'm a vegetarian?"

"I...Well, you've just got the appearance of a vegetarian. And, well. You haven't eaten meat in sometime."

Christine thought for a moment. It was true. When was the last time she had eaten meat? Two weeks? A month? No, now that she really thought about it the last time had been on the Enterprise. Strange, it hadn't been a conscious choice, she just hadn't bothered. "No, I haven't now that you mention it. But how did you know?"

"When you've been away from meat for a time you can smell it on others."

"Smell it?" Christine's eyes were wide.

"Yes. There's a certain scent that all meat eaters have. It's not offensive if you're wondering. It's just distinct. I think it's why the Vulcans think we all smell bad." She smiled.

"Hm. I guess I never thought about it."

"Well, if you prefer something with meat in it, I can ask Maleek to make some chicken for you."

"No, thank you. This is wonderful." Christine leaned forward and smelled the platter appreciatively.

"Well then I will bring you something to drink." She returned in a moment with a tall glass of orange liquid. "Mango Lassi. Try it, it's very refreshing."

Christine ate with much abandon, feeling strangely comfortable.

She continued to ponder the change in her eating habits. When had she stopped? In the hospital she had certainly been given the opportunity. Leonard brought a bloody prime rib for her first solid meal. She had focused on the baked potato instead, saying she wasn't all that hungry. If she had given it any thought at the time it was the smell of the barely singed meat that had made her lose her appetite. It brought to mind the smell of death and blood wine. It was too close to the memory of the pirate's ship.

But how had she missed this in her sessions with Don? They spent their days talking of her relationship with her mother, her ability to control her temper on the job. None of which seemed to be the problem, at least it didn't seem to be the problem otherwise she would have been able to finish her stupid sessions by now.

Now she was getting angry. She was shoveling her food into her mouth barely tasting it before swallowing. What was he doing? What did he hope to accomplish? She'd been wasting her time. She didn't understand.

Suddenly the lovely woman appeared again with another couple of cups of tea. "Do you mind if I join you?" she asked as she sat down.

"Uh, no." She looked uncertain for a moment. It was so unusual to have someone just come sit with you while you were eating.

"You like the vegetable korma?"

"Oh yes, it was wonderful." She pushed her plate away and picked up the teacup. "Thank you."

The Indian woman smiled again, "You're welcome. My name is Mahru." She extended her hand.

Christine took it, noticing the woman's intricate henna tattoo on her hands. "Christine." She introduced herself, mindful to raise her eyes and not stare at the lovely design.

Mahru just continued to smile as she released Christine's hand. She was so easy and kind it was downright unnerving.

"My sister finally got married." She raised her hands to display the pattern. "Mama insisted that we all do our hands as well."

"It's beautiful." Christine admired.

"It's getting me out of doing any work for a month!" the woman exclaimed. "Maleek insists that I not do any work, like in the old days."

At Christine's puzzled look the woman continued, "Brides would stain their hands with henna before their wedding night. Then when they entered their mother in law's house they would not have to work until the henna wore off. It takes about a month." Then she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "If you don't re apply it." She winked. "When I got married we hennaed my hands, but Maleek and I moved into our own house and we shared all the work. So this time he said I could take the time off."

Christine sighed contentedly. Two hours ago she had felt like she was the only person in the city, now she felt like she had met her best friend. No not a best friend, an aunt. Mahru felt like family.

The pair of brown eyes peeked around the kitchen door again. Another pair quickly joined them. Mahru did not look over her shoulder, but with a mother's own intuition spoke to her peeping children. "Yasmeen, Bakir, Stop peeping over my shoulder like that. Come here." She opened her arms to her children and they hugged her peering through thick curly black hair at Christine. "Yasmeen, what do you have here?"

"My book mama. I'm s'posed to read to you. 'Member?"

"Oh yes dear. Hop up here and you can read to our guest as well."

"A long time ago in a house on a mountain there lived a small girl named Angelita.."

Christine smiled at the girl as she turned the book so that the woman could see the illustration. It was a rare treat to hear a real story and there was nothing so wonderful as a story told by a child.

Christine looked up at Mahru and knew that she would be spending a lot of time with this remarkable woman and her charming family.