No one could remember when they had first come together — it seemed to those who knew them that they had simply always been entwined, like two rivers that had found each other so long ago that the water itself had forgotten how to flow alone. She was the warm coral fire of late sunsets and bold decisions, and he was the cool deep blue of still water and quiet certainty, and together they made something that was neither and both — a color the world had no name for yet. When they held each other the swirling lines of their separate lives would slow and soften, each one finding its natural complement in the other, her curves meeting his depths, his stillness meeting her fire, until the boundary between them became not a border but a conversation. Those who passed by their window at night would sometimes stop without knowing why, held briefly by the warmth that emanated from within — not heat exactly, but something more like the feeling of a long question finally answered. They were not two people who had chosen to be together so much as two halves of a single beautiful thing that had spent a long time finding its way back to itself.