"You see," she murmured with a tilt of her head, "the patterns in the sky dance their own tune when they're unobserved, their melodies a secret symphony only the stars understand.”
"But are we not part of this celestial orchestra?" he asked, eyes tracing the invisible lines that connected them to a universe broader than comprehension.
Silence hung like a thread between them, delicate, poised, waiting for an unseen hand to pluck it into resonance. A moment's pause, then:
"Perhaps," she replied, her voice a gentle echo against the ephemeral backdrop of time, "it is our restless brilliance that fuels these cosmic whims..."