The Doctor had always been a wanderer—a traveler through time and space, a lonely figure with centuries etched into their eyes. But when they met Rose Tyler, everything changed.
Their first encounter was in the Ninth Doctor's incarnation, right at the beginning of it all. "Rose," he'd said, and the name had echoed across the universe, imprinting itself on his hearts. She was ordinary, yet extraordinary—a shop girl with a spirit that defied galaxies.
And then came the day when their hands brushed accidentally—a fleeting touch that ignited a kaleidoscope of colors. The Doctor stumbled, disoriented, as if the universe had shifted on its axis. Rose stared at her own hand, wide-eyed, as hues danced before her eyes.
"What just happened?" she whispered.
The Doctor's voice was equally hushed. "We're soulmates, Rose. Our connection—our touch—it reveals the true spectrum of existence."
From that moment, their lives intertwined. They traveled together, hand in hand, exploring alien worlds and ancient civilizations. Each touch was a revelation—a symphony of reds, blues, and greens. They laughed under skies of cerulean and wept beneath violet sunsets.
"Why didn't I see this before?" Rose marveled, tracing constellations on the Doctor's skin.
"Because we were lost," the Doctor replied. "Separated by time and fate. But now, we've found each other."
They stood on a distant planet, its flora pulsating with iridescent light. The Doctor cupped Rose's face, their lips meeting in a kiss that tasted of stardust and longing. And as their mouths melded, colors exploded—a supernova of emotions.
"I love you," Rose whispered against the Doctor's lips.
"Always," the Doctor vowed.
But life wasn't all celestial wonders. They faced Daleks, Cybermen, and the inexorable march of time. Rose aged, her hair graying, her eyes crinkling with laughter lines. The Doctor remained unchanged, a paradox of love and loss.
"I don't want to forget," Rose confessed one night, nestled in the TARDIS's cozy library.
"Neither do I," the Doctor said. *"But our moments—they're etched in the fabric of reality. Even when memory fades, our souls remember."
And so, they danced through epochs, their love transcending dimensions. When Rose's eyesight dimmed, the Doctor described sunsets in vivid detail. When the Doctor faced regeneration, Rose held their hand, whispering, "Stay with me."
"Always," the Doctor promised, even as regeneration swept them into a new form.
And then came the day when Rose's touch no longer revealed colors. The Doctor wept silently, knowing that their time was running out. Rose smiled, her eyes crinkling.
"We had a good run," she said. *"Remember the stars for me."
"I'll never forget," the Doctor vowed.
And as Rose closed her eyes for the last time, the Doctor held her—two souls entwined, their love a cosmic tapestry. The TARDIS hummed, mourning alongside them.
"Thank you," the Doctor whispered. "For showing me colors."
"Always," Rose murmured, fading into stardust.
And in that final touch, the Doctor saw not just colors, but the universe itself—a swirling, magnificent blend of love and loss.
