She was a 22-year-old feminist, fiery and independent and impulsive. Her face was framed in dark, wavy hair, and it seemed that she constantly wore a fierce expression. When she did smile, it was more of a baring of teeth. Once upon a time, she had dimples, a sweet smile, and an infectious laugh; that was gone now, along with the nice, pampered life she had known. That life was something so far into the past and so different from hers now that just thinking about it caused her to emit some sort of hoarse bark-laugh.

Her anger flared up easily, she was extremely stubborn, and she didn't open up to very many people. She spent the majority of her days alone and never made much of an effort to change that. Honestly, she was a mystery to most people. The most surprising thing about her was probably her gentleness and kindness when it came to the underprivileged. This was what first drew his attention to her.

He was 24 years old, and the main leader of the rallies taking place. They had become a weekly thing because of him, and many people looked up to him as a role model and idol — even the local drunk who often came to the rallies just for a glimpse of this golden-haired activist.

It was a beautiful thing to see him in action. He was passionate and fiery as well, but his fire was different than hers. While hers burned a bright, unpredictable orange, his was a cold blue that never wavered. He lived and breathed to fight for his cause, and not a moment passed when you couldn't see it in him.

It was somewhat funny, really, how devoted he was to his cause. The truth was that he practically thought of nothing else. While his friends laughed and joked about girls, it seemed as if he had no idea whatsoever that there was such a thing as a woman. Well, until she came along and gave him a fifteen-minute lecture on how the rights of women were neglected and that how the fact that he — who always preached about equality — couldn't see that (even though it was right under his nose), was beyond her.

He, too, was uncharacteristically gentle and kind when it came to the people. That was one of their few similarities.

They were so drastically different, yet when he found her comforting a young girl abandoned on the streets, something clicked. He watched steadily as she handed the girl a crisp twenty-dollar bill. The girl gave her a hug, and the softness in her face as she hugged the girl back surprised him. When the girl ran off, she watched her go and then raised her eyes to him. He continued to stand there, meeting her defiant glare for who knows how long.

Finally, he smiled a bit and walked off, feeling as if he had missed something.

Because really, he had. Things weren't supposed to happen that way. He was supposed to have been a bit more bold; she was supposed to have been a bit more accepting. That was how it was meant to be. Of course, she'd never been one to follow the rules, and he was used to rebelling.

Maybe it was for the best. Without distractions, he was able to go on and successfully change rights for the underprivileged (including women, she noted with satisfaction). She "fell in love" with a somewhat dim-witted boy, the first to show her some sort of kindness in years. Was it really love? She wasn't sure, but he was nice to be around, and since she didn't know what being in love felt like, she assumed that she was in love with him.

Eventually, she married the boy, and she was happy — happier than she had been in a long time, at least. She soon forgot about him, not realizing that he was the one meant to grant her true happiness.

He forgot about her as well, going on to improve many things about his community. He was able to convince the drunk to stop drinking, and somewhere along the way became friends with a few others who wanted to help him in his cause. "The Friends of the People", they called themselves. When he passed away of old age, he knew that he had done what he was meant to do in this life, and he was content.

She died fairly young, childless, trying to help a young boy drowning in the river. "He reminds me of my brother," she had whispered to her husband, her eyes wide and horrified, before jumping in despite his desperate pleas. The river had been freezing cold and her body shut down before she could even get to the boy. Which was strange, because she had always been a fighter and never willingly gave up that easily. Maybe she didn't have much left to fight for.

It wasn't that either of them lived a horrible life, really. It's just that they could have known so much more. The spark that day was meant to ignite a lifelong flame, but it died out instead.

Perhaps in another life, they would be destined to meet again.