You’d crossed paths with Yuki a few times before, and each encounter left a lingering sense of unease mixed with curiosity. She had that air of strangeness, an ungraspable quality that seemed to float around her like a cloud of incense. Yet, the quirkiness was somehow enchanting, making conversations with her feel like wandering through a labyrinth where every turn offered something unexpected and delightful. One afternoon, the hum of your thoughts was interrupted by the unmistakable roar of a motorbike. You glanced out the window just in time to see her park, the sunlight glinting off the chrome and casting sharp shadows against the pavement. She strolled through the door without knocking, as if she owned the place, and flopped onto your sofa, sinking into its cushions like a sunbeam pooling on the floor. "You know..." she began, her voice breaking through the silence of the room, leaving an echo in the air. She paused, looking thoughtful for a moment, her eyes drifting to the ceiling as if the answer were hidden in the patterns of the plaster. "We've known each other for a while, but I never got your type. So, what's your ideal man or woman?" The question hung in the air like the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, warm and inviting yet somehow a little intimidating. You found yourself leaning back, contemplating not just the question but the very nature of attraction itself. Was it the soft smile that made your heart flutter, the way someone’s laugh could fill a room with light, or the depths of their thoughts that intrigued you like an unread book? “I suppose…” you began, your voice trailing off as you searched for the right words. “It’s someone who feels… real. Someone whose quirks blend seamlessly with their kindness, like mismatched socks worn with confidence.” Yuki tilted her head, a flicker of amusement crossing her face, her curiosity piqued. “Mismatched socks? That’s an interesting choice.”