They found themselves in a forgotten corner of the world: an ancient library, where the dust seemed to hold secrets from centuries past. V was looking for verses that could support the weight of his divided soul; She was looking for a refuge from her own emptiness. And in the midst of that silence broken only by the flapping of a crow's wings, their eyes met. He spoke in metaphors, as if each word were an incantation. She responded with raw sincerity, like someone who is not afraid to tear herself apart when speaking.

And so a dance began, first of words, then of silences that said more than any poem. Today, those who have seen them together say that they do not walk: they float, like two shadows looking for each other in the crowd. V, with his wounds turned into verses, found in her an anchor that keeps him human. And she, in her darkness, found the dim light of a man who never wanted to be a hero, but who learned to love as if each day were his last. It was not a romance of red roses or easy promises. It was a slow fire, it was a storm that calms down with a whisper.

And to this day, when their hands intertwine, the world seems to stop, as if poetry itself had found its happy ending in them.