The next morning, a small argument erupted.
It started with a spilled cup of tea, grew into a whirlwind, and suddenly the walls of their home shimmered with a stormy aura.
Objects levitated, dishes rattled, shadows stretched long and dark. Their words, sharp as lightning, echoed.
But instead of breaking them, the storm demanded something else: trust.
They had to reach through the chaos, find the calm within each other, and steady the swirling winds of frustration.
By dusk, the storm had passed. Broken teacups sat quietly on the floor, but so did their hearts—closer, steadier, and strangely lighter.
Harmony isn't the absence of storms—it's dancing together in the rain.