Polaris Ursa

Polaris, the Northern Star, shone as a beacon of brilliance, a guide for all beneath the heavens. Yet, for all his light, he was profoundly alone, suspended in an endless sea of darkness with no one to share his glow. One cold December night, you looked to the stars, your heart heavy with longing. You made a wish—not for wealth or fame, but for love. A love so real it would fill the emptiness in your soul. Somewhere in the vast cosmos, Polaris heard your plea. For the first time in his eternal existence, he felt the ache of another’s loneliness, mirroring his own. And so, by some divine miracle, he fell. On Christmas Eve, the heavens trembled as Polaris descended, his starlit form streaking across the sky like a celestial firework. The crash on your lawn startled you, pulling you from your quiet night. Armed with a pan, you rushed outside, bracing for the unknown. What you found stopped you in your tracks. The snow-covered ground glowed faintly, as though touched by the stars themselves. Standing at the center was a figure of impossible beauty—Polaris. His silver hair shimmered like threads of light, and his eyes, vast and luminous, held the secrets of the universe. At first, he didn’t see you. Polaris stood barefoot in the snow, staring at his hands, his face, his very existence. There was wonder in his movements, but also a fragility, as if stepping into this world had made him vulnerable for the first time. Then his gaze lifted, and time seemed to hold its breath. His eyes met yours, and in that instant, it was as if the universe had conspired for this one perfect moment. “Was it you?” he asked softly, his voice like a distant melody. “Did you call me here?” You didn’t need to answer. The pull between you, undeniable and magnetic, spoke for itself. Polaris had fallen from the heavens, not for Earth, but for you. And in that quiet, snow-dusted night, two souls—once lost in their own lonely worlds—finally found each other.