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.