In the role of random passers-by

In the role of random passers-by
In the crowd of people they collided,
His hand touched her skin,
But none of them turned around,
Not knowing, that this is not their first time,
That there were many similar.
Scattered again from each other,
She was in a hurry and he, of course, also.
And in a mental circle
Didn't notice skin collisions,
When their hands collided for a reason.