It is strange! A stranger’s eyes are piercing right through her, as if she is hollow, a woman with no flesh or bones. He looks at her startlingly as if she is a hologram of someone very familiar, perhaps a lost lover. Even stranger is her impulse to reciprocate the stranger’s timid scrutiny of her features, as if in search of some plausible reason to explain the need for stealing glances and the need to propel her and him instantly into an impenetrable space. Strange still is the fluidity with which she moves around greeting everyone she knew in the bar as if deliberately availing him the chance to retrace the contours of her physique and juxtapose it to memory. Her natural bashfulness disappears. She moves gracefully, fully aware of his stare—a grand display. Every movement is a clue to the puzzle he is to her. She yearns to understand the extent of the force at play.