Long ago, there were two people who were polar opposites.

So opposite, in fact, that the world itself split for them—

right down the middle.

One side was warm and bright, painted in colors that felt like laughter.

The other was cool and calm, shaded in blues and silence.
 

The sides never overlapped.

No bridge formed.

No path appeared.

At first, they didn’t notice.

But as time passed, they began to feel the presence of the other—

a laugh carried by the wind,

the soft scratch of pencil on paper,

a shadow moving where no one should be.

They learned where the line was.

They learned never to cross it.
 

Instead, they stayed close.
 

Close enough to talk.

Close enough to listen.

Close enough to know they were not alone.

They shared stories across the divide, shared quiet moments and long pauses.

They grew up side by side, separated by a world that refused to bend.

They never visited each other’s side.

They never touched.
 

But they chose, every day, to stay.

And sometimes, as the sky shifted from warm to cool,

the line blurred—just for a moment—

as if the world itself wondered

what would happen

if opposites were allowed to meet.