The whirring ceiling fan above her head told her that she was in a familiar place. The fingers kneading her scalp, forehead and cheek bones made her feel otherwise. Not to say she didn’t enjoy that sensation. She was just unaccustomed to it. A part of her wanted to curl up into a ball at every touch on her face. The other tried hard to ignore that feeling. She’d flinch at every unfamiliar touch on her face, accompanied by an embarrassed giggle.
The touch on the arms didn’t feel as alien. She was used to brushing against too many folks during her daily commute. It felt oddly comforting. But the feet were a whole different trip. It as it is felt awkward to have someone caress her feet with a pumice stone. Add to that the constant flinching and giggling. Her presence caused quite a riot there that afternoon.
Touch was never very important for her. It was never a measure of the love and affection in a relationship. She wasn’t very demonstrative with her affection either. Close friends would testify that she rarely reached out to hug them. She’d write long mails and spend hours chattering away with folks she was fond of. But rarely expressed that fondness with a physical touch. She simply thought it was non-essential.