In a Parisian dawn of 1892, as the Seine whispered long-forgotten secrets, hands brushed; a man's shadow and brindled lace of a lady's glove exchanged echoes of futures, ephemeral as morning mist.
Skipping stones in a Venetian dream, winter of 2320, they stumbled through the reflections cast by endless canals—each ripple bound with words unspoken and fervor not yet lived, yet whispered across ages with unwavered fidelity.
She awaited at the desert edge, year 1583, or was it 3015? A mirage laced their hearts with tremors of time: waves upon charcoaled sand slipping through ardent fingers, not unlike stardust dissolving into forgotten twilight.