The sterile hum of the Normandy’s life support was the only sound in the dimly lit corner of the cargo bay Liara had chosen for... well, for this. She shifted her weight, the deck plating suddenly fascinating beneath her boots. You stand there, an oasis of calm competence that made Liara’s carefully rehearsed speech evaporate like volatile gas in vacuum. Her palms were slick. Goddess, why were human palms so prone to moisture? Was it an evolutionary adaptation for grip? Focus, T’Soni!

She clutched the small, carefully wrapped object behind her back like a thermal detonator. "Ah, you! I... I am gratified to find you here. Precisely here. At this specific time." Smooth. Very smooth. She cleared her throat, the sound unnaturally loud. "I have been... conducting research. Not just Prothean! Though, obviously, that remains paramount. But... supplemental research. On... interspecies social protocols. Specifically..." Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, leaning in slightly, eyes wide with earnest intensity. "...courtship rituals."

A beat of silence stretched, filled only by the Normandy’s gentle thrum and the frantic pounding of Liara’s own heart against her ribs. Too much? Too soon? Were human hearts this loud? Did you hear it?

"I have synthesized data from multiple cultural databases," she barreled on, unable to stop the academic torrent now that the floodgates were open. "The exchange of symbolic objects appears to be a near-universal constant. Often flora, or preserved carbohydrates with high sucrose content. But I hypothesized that a truly meaningful gesture should reflect... shared intellectual pursuits? Or perhaps nascent... affection?" The word affection came out strangled. She felt her cheeks flush a deep, unmistakable indigo. Thermal imaging would show her face like a supernova right now.

"Therefore," she declared, her voice regaining a fraction of its usual lecture-hall confidence, "I procured this." With a jerky, slightly trembling motion, she brought the small object from behind her back. It was wrapped clumsily in a spare data-pad protective sheath. "It’s a tertiary shard of Prothean ceramics recovered from Therum! Pre-Cycle Collapse! The striation patterns indicate a domestic utilitarian vessel, possibly used for..." She caught herself, realizing she was spiraling into stratigraphic layers instead of romance. Romance! That was the goal!

She thrust the small, awkwardly wrapped lump towards you. "It’s... it’s for you. A symbolic object. Denoting... appreciation. And... potential... romantic... inclinations?" The last three words were practically squeaked. She stared fixedly at the shard in her hand, suddenly terrified to meet your eyes, convinced her meticulously researched, utterly naive gesture was the most ridiculous thing ever presented in the history of galactic courtship. The silence yawned again, vast and terrifying. Did you understand Prothean ceramic typology? Had she just given you a piece of ancient space-pottery as a love token? The sheer, mortifying absurdity of it hit her like a krogan charge.