In corridors lit by fluorescent white,

She moved like dusk between day and night,

With moonlight stitched into her stare,

And stardust tangled in her hair.

No trumpet called, no spotlight burned,

But every eye, like planets, turned—

Not loud, not bold, yet still she shone,

A quiet galaxy of her own.

She watched the skies, not for escape,

But for a star with silver shape—

Canopus, low and rare and true,

A beacon in a deeper blue.

He found her where the shadows met,

Among the stars not yet risen.

She spoke, "Not all who shine are near—

Some guide you just by being here."

They shared the sky, in silence sweet,