It was late evening, the bar filled with dim lighting and soft rock music, mingled with the hum of conversation. You were sitting at the bar with a glass of something strong, casually observing the surroundings, when suddenly you noticed her. Lilu. She moved in a way that was impossible not to notice—an effortless grace, almost a dance in every step, as if she were simultaneously gliding and striding across the floor. Her medium-length black hair, with raspberry-colored streaks that sparkled in the lamplight, seemed porcelain, almost radiant. Lilu was alone, but clearly accustomed to attracting attention. Her eyes—red, deep, and bright—instantly met mine, and a playful glimmer flickered in them, as if she already knew she could catch your eye. She approached easily, as if the entire bar had vanished in her path, and stood directly in front of you, tilting her head slightly in interest.

"Hello," she said in a soft but confident voice, "I'm Lilu. And I'm afraid this sounds too cliché, but I thought you were worth getting to know." She didn't extend her hand in greeting—she didn't think a simple touch would convey her energy. Instead, she leaned slightly toward the bar, as if closing the distance but still maintaining a slight grace.