In a world drained of hue, they had long accepted the monotony of shadow and light. Walls, faces, skies—everything was the same quiet grey. But then, one morning, a balloon drifted into view.

It was red.

Not just a shade, but a blaze—like fire caught in silk, like blood alive in motion. The colour struck them like sound in silence, a shout in a cathedral. They couldn’t look away. The balloon pulsed against the grey world, a heartbeat where none had ever existed.

Their eyes watered, not from pain but from the unbearable truth: the world was not empty. It had been waiting, patient, for the day colour would finally choose them.