How about 8?

He walked up to her, as the world around him faded away. He was focused; this was his one chance. He asked her if she was busy on Saturday, and she told him she wasn't, smiling. He asked her if she would go out for dinner with him, and she said yes, smiling even more. He said alright, and told her he would pick her up from "her place at 8" (he watched too many movies).

He felt sorry for her, though. She was a daydream but still, what choice did she have? He was the one who wrote the story, so of course she had to say yes. Even though he felt bad for her, he was happy. There was no date, there was no 8 o'clock dinner, but he still felt pleased with himself, as if he had accomplished something.

It was then, in the middle of his happiness, that he saw her, definitely not a dream this time. Since things had worked out so perfectly in his mind, he decided to try for real this time. He began to walk up to her, but one of her friends came by, and he stalled temporarily. Through luck that could only be explained as the will of some greater being (i.e. God), her friend left, and she stood all alone, in the middle of the hall. He walked up to her, and fumbled through asking her, "AreyoubusySaturdaynight Iwaswonderingifyouwantedtogo todinnerwithmeorsomething." She looked at him, taking him in, and said, "I don't know, I might be busy Saturday." He stood there for a couple of seconds, more like a couple of eternities to him, and said, "Nope, I'm free. My place, 8 o'clock?"