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We spoke in starlight — not because we had no words, but because the silence between us was already full of them. It was in the way your eyes held mine under a sky stitched with constellations, how your laughter danced like shooting stars across the night, and how even our breaths seemed to sync with the rhythm of the universe. We didn't need names or promises; the stars whispered for us, translating heartbeats into celestial code. In that glow, time dissolved — there were no past regrets or future fears, only the gentle hum of two souls speaking a language older than sound, written in flickers and shadows, in glances that lingered longer than the moon.



That night became our secret sanctuary — a place where love wasn't declared, but felt, woven into the fabric of the cosmos. We didn't say "I love you" — we let the Milky Way echo it for us. And when dawn came, pale and hesitant, we didn't say goodbye… we simply paused, knowing that every star we'd spoken through would remember us. Because some connections aren't bound by daylight or distance — they're etched in the quiet brilliance of starlight, waiting patiently for the next dark sky to bring us back together, whispering again, softly, beautifully: We are still here. Still speaking. Still glowing.