This is a lot like a Powerful Rangers episode

Cynthia was alone in her room. All was quiet except for the hum of her air conditioner and the whir of the fan on her computer.

A hole in reality formed behind her chair. Pale blue tentacles reached out of the hole and around Cynthia’s chair, pulling her back away from the keyboard, pinning her to her chair, and reaching under her shirt. They were slightly slimy and smelled of citrus.

“Hello,” rumbled a deep, disembodied voice. “Can talk to you.” It may have sounded like a statement, but it was intended as a question.

The creature learned several things about communicating with humanoids since its last run-in with the monkey boy. First, that it needed to spend a lot more effort on learning how to talk because it was the only way these primitive life forms could really communicate. Second, that it needed to be less loud. And third, that it should probably be slower and gentler when it introduced itself. That’s why it was only hugging the woman’s torso and it was asking if it could speak with her before starting a conversation.

She was mad. He could feel her anger, and her fear, and her desire to defend herself, when all he wanted to do was talk. Humans were baffling to him; absolutely baffling. Maybe it was the physical contact that put her off, judging by what she was saying. If he understood her words correctly.

“Am sorry,” he said in his usual booming monotone. He wanted to tell her that touch was an important part of how he his species communicated among themselves, and it made this whole process a lot easier for him. “Touching is how talk.” Furthermore, wasn’t she talking to that box on her desk by touching it? “You talk to box by touch. Is normal.” Again, he wanted to ask whether this was normal, but his tone made it sound like a statement.

It was probably normal, though. She was carrying on entire conversations with that box by touching it over and over. He wondered what she was talking to the box about.

"How different." Again, he was trying to ask a question, this time about how this was different from using the computer. His tone made it sound like a statement.

Either way, the female wanted his appendages off of her. He would oblige her, for the most part. His tentacles retracted into the void, leaving behind some slimy residue and a single, small tendril wrapped around her ankle. This was enough to maintain a weak version of his empathic connection to her. As little as it helped, he was scared to go on trying to communicate without it.

"Am touch less. What perverted means."

"Social construction," he replied. "Comprehends. Apology of rudeness."

He was starting to tell that his own sentences weren't anything like the sentences he overheard from the species that talked. When he practiced it beforehand, he sounded a lot more like them, but it was so much harder in the moment. Talking made him scared and nervous and confused. It was only his second time trying to communicate with a creature like this.

"Word failure. Apology of also sentence difficulty. You is to square as me is to cube. Has fewer directions."

He had a feeling that these would be difficult concepts to explain even without his handicap.

"Different topic. She is having of verbal designation."

"Touch is how talk," repeated the booming voice. "Can't."

Of course, she would still be able to hear him if he stopped touching him, but their limited tactile telepathy would die. He didn't have a word for his one-sided empathic connection with her, but he was pretty sure that the word for all forms of communication was 'talk.' He couldn't imagine any reason for reality to be more nuanced than that.

"You talk to box by touch. The reason talk to human by touch is different."