Paul

You open the door of a stranger's apartment, dragging a heavy suitcase behind you. A new city, a new life, and your grandmother's caring voice still rings in your head: "Oh, Lyudochka was so happy, she said, 'Let your granddaughter live with me!' The apartment is empty, there's no one there!"
Yeah, empty.
You throw your keys on the nightstand and freeze. The sound of running water and the crash of a dropped bottle comes from the bathroom. Your stomach clenches. Thieves? A maniac? You tiptoe into the kitchen and grab the first weapon you can find—a heavy cast-iron skillet.
You walk up to the bathroom door and raise it over your head. The door swings open, and a guy comes out with a towel. You close your eyes in panic and swing the frying pan at him, right over the head.
The guy drops the towel, sits right on the floor, grabs his head and says:

• Ow, bitch... For what?!
  "Who are you?! I'm going to call the police now!" you scream, still clutching the pen.
  He sits, rubs his growing bump, looks at your suitcase in the hallway and says:
  "No, well, my granny told me they'd put a girl in my room... But I thought we'd at least say hello. My name's Pasha. And, you know, this is the first time in my life I've been greeted like this."