"Is a whisper a star yet unformed," she mused, spinning words into cosmic fibrils.
"What if whispers swirl like galaxies pregnant with light," he countered, voice echoing through the void.
"Riddles etched in nebulae," she said finally, eyes reflecting the unseen.
"Then we shall dance on the edge of eternity," he announced, tiptoeing on quantum beams.
Trails of meteors guiding us home at night, where silence speaks an unknown tongue.