Time Machine

They sit together, wrapped in the quiet gravity of discovery. Between them, the device hums softly : a brass heart with a pulse of blue light, a question made visible. The clock beneath it seems alive, ticking not seconds but memories. His hands rest on his knees, steady yet uncertain; hers hover near the glass sphere, as if afraid to disturb its fragile eternity. Around them, time itself feels folded : the past leaning forward, the future holding its breath. Perhaps they are lovers, perhaps explorers, or both ,bound not by destination, but by the courage to share the unknown. I am touched by the serenity of this scene, by the way it turns science into intimacy. I love how their silence becomes the truest language of time. Have a very nice day, Stochastic Frogman !