"He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me not. He..."
A shadow falls across your hands. "Hey." He crouches down beside you. "What are you doing?"
"I, uh... I..." Flustered, you wave the stem of the multi-petaled alien rose in the air. "I was just..."
He's staring at the flower, and at your hand, one eyebrow raised expectantly, waiting for you to come up with the profoundest meaning-of-life revelation, or the lamest off-color joke in this galaxy and its ten closest neighbors. And suddenly, you have no idea what you are doing here, sitting in this clump of grass, in the warm afternoon sunlight tinged just a shade more orange than it is on good ol' earth, a stem of not-quite rose in your fingers, with his face getting too close to yours as expectation starts to slide into concern.
"Here. Flower." You shove the alien bloom into his startled hand and stride away without a backward glance.