I turn and observe the rhythmic rise and fall of Uhura's breathing. In end of the semester exhaustion she has fallen asleep on her desk: graceful limbs askew, her face pressed to her elbow.
Tomorrow she returns home to Kenya for spring break.
I had hoped to speak with her before then, but I must attend to pressing business with the Dean. I shall not wake her. I take my summer cloak down from the back of my office door and carefully slip it around her shoulders.
Without waking, she murmurs my name and pulls my cloak beneath her cheek.