Inspiration in the form of mol-
ten gold ran through her veins, replacing
her very blood—but only when he
was in close proximity. She was
a writer; a poetess whose words
flowed most fluidly from her pen up-
on seeing him. They were polar op-
posites—one being the epito-
me of happiness and optimism
while the other was dark and brooding;
yet they came to be nonetheless. Their
first collision was a result of
sweet serendipity, and as was
every secret tryst that followed.
With overwhelming darkness plaguing
minds, pain engulfing hearts and tears blur-
ring love away, they needed ever-
y little ephemeral stroke of
serendipity they could get.