She was impossible. Impossibly beautiful, impossibly talking to him, but also impossibly present, so much so that what else could she be but a dream? The soles of her feet must be hovering a centimetre above the ground. Her skin would turn out to be made of glass that would shatter if touched. Her hands, on closer inspection would be translucent, at the least clear enough to read through.
He reached forward impulsively and took her hand in his. She let him, and he examined it front and back. There was nothing unusual about it at all of course, just a hand (but her hand, hers) and, embarrassed, he set it back down.