Once upon a time, there was a sensible straight line who was hopelessly in love with a dot.
"You are the beginning and the end, the hub, the core, and the quintessence," he confessed tenderly.
But the frivolous dot wasn’t the least bit interested. Her heart belonged to a wild and unkempt squiggle who never seemed to have anything on his mind. The two were inseparable, frolicking and laughing, singing and dancing, reveling in carefree abandon.
“He’s so uninhibited and full of joy,” the dot exclaimed rapturously. “And you—you’re as stiff as a stick! Dull, conventional, and repressed!” She rattled off an exhaustive list of criticisms, leaving the line feeling utterly dejected.
“Why take chances?” the line argued weakly. “I’m dependable, steady, consistent. I know where I’m going. I have dignity.”
But his words offered him little solace. Each day, he grew more morose, ceasing to eat or sleep until he was completely on edge. His friends tried to console him. “She’s not good enough for you,” they insisted. “She lacks depth. Why don’t you find a nice straight line and settle down?”
Yet the line remained unmoved. To him, the dot was perfect—flawless in ways only he could see.
"She’s more beautiful than any straight line I’ve ever seen," he sighed wistfully, though even his friends felt he was stretching the point.
Dreaming of the dot, he imagined himself transformed into the kind of figure she might admire: a celebrated daredevil, a world leader, a fearless law enforcer, a potent force in art, or an international sportsman. But his fantasies only served to remind him of his shortcomings.
Finally, he resolved to change. “I lack spontaneity,” he admitted. “I must learn to let go, to be free, to express the passionate me.”
Despite his efforts, his attempts to emulate the squiggle always fell flat. However, he persisted, failing and trying again, until one day, he discovered he could bend and change direction. He made an angle, then another, and another, until he had created an entire sequence of shapes.
“Hot stuff!” he declared, delighted with his newfound versatility.
At first, he indulged in wild, chaotic experiments, but soon he realized, “Freedom isn’t a license for chaos.” He began practicing with discipline, mastering squares, triangles, hexagons, and more complex forms—circles, ellipses, and intricate curves. He learned to express himself in any shape imaginable.
"You name it, I’ll play it," he said confidently.
With his new skills, he set off to find the dot again. But the squiggle, sensing competition, scoffed. “You don’t stand a chance,” he sneered.
Undeterred, the line dazzled the dot with his talents. He was now clever, versatile, eloquent, and mysterious—qualities that left the dot utterly captivated. Meanwhile, the squiggle, caught off guard, fumbled awkwardly.
“Is that all?” the dot asked in disbelief as she noticed how coarse, untidy, and graceless the squiggle truly was. The charm she once admired now seemed like nothing but chaos and laziness.
"You’re as meaningless as a melon," she said coldly. “Undisciplined, unkempt, and insignificant.”
Turning to the line, she shyly took his arm. “Do the one with all the funny curves again,” she cooed.
And he did. Together, they found a balance neither had known before, living—if not happily ever after—at least reasonably so.