You meet a girl in the hallway. She has red hair, and you haven't got a shirt on, and she has no name, not yet.
She touches, touches, touches. Normally that's the sort of thing that would shut you off completely, send you utterly into false calm and feigned interest. But this girl...this girl is different, and you don't know why. Maybe it's because it's hard to tell what she wants, exactly. Most women aren't so forward, and she's so very forward that you think maybe she doesn't mean it that way, that maybe she wants something else. Maybe she's just what she appears to be--new to the building, looking for someone to talk to on a night where everyone is seeing ghosts.
She's beautiful, and this registers somehow in a way it normally wouldn't. She's beautiful but when you think it, it's not just an observation, the way it would be normally. It's a feeling, as well, a stirring that you don't quite understand. She's smart, and she's got a sweetness behind her heavy handed, likely feigned confidence.
She's got your interest. And that's more than you can say for anyone you've met in a very, very long time. When she leaves, you want to see her again, a sensation so untouched in you it throws up dust when it moves.