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Sine swaggered up the graph. There was little on the abandoned grid except the erased skeletons of would be Lines, dead before they had a chance to alleviate his boredom. Humans were foolish in this way: they created with pencil, which smudged and faded, destroying as fast as they built. Then again, most Lines were dull, never changing, never exploring what could be. Few would ever be able to keep up with Sine’s creativity, his rapid changes of interest, his gracious dance that was so tightly controlled.
Then he met her. She cut her way across him, and then she waltzed away. A split second of a touch, and he knew, he knew, she was like him. Almost to a fault. A perfect imitation. Imitation, Sine told himself, was the finest form of flattery. But secretly, he was annoyed. He had enjoyed his uniqueness, the sense that he was the only one that truly went on forever without going anywhere. He had been the only one confined and infinite. Now, he wasn’t special, nothing to distinguish him from the dull others.
The second time, it was almost taunting. As she flashed across his view, he called for her name. “Cose” she replied, before bounding out his reach again. An odd name, to be sure, but better that than stealing yet another thing from him.
Their meetings became more frequent, longer, and Sine began to see her coming, often shouting to her from across the grid. Although at first their similarities had made them clash, Sine realised slowly that perhaps it was better that there were two of them. After all, it takes two to tango, and their’s was the most exciting of tangoes. Even though Cose seemed to know more than she let on, always the more skilled dancer on their stage.
Finally, Cose and Sine reached the stage where they were intersecting as often as not. It was fun, pleasant, almost calming. There was balance in Sine’s world.
“Ever feel we were fated?” he once asked her.
“Since before I met you,” Cose replied, shooting away once again, slipping down the negative side of the graph, elegant as a swallow.
“What do you mean?”
“We’re the same, you and I. Two sides of a coin. I am your perfect compliment. I’m designed to be.”
“Speak sense, Cose!”
“My full name’s Cosine.”
Something clicked in Sine. Suddenly he reached out, grasped her. Cose flinched away, before returning, a small smile playing on her lips. “What’s next?” he asked quietly
“Continual intersecting for the rest of infinite.”
“Sounds good.”
After that, the two Lines waltzed their way across the graph. Confined and infinite, different but the same. More interesting, more important than any other line. When all other lines ceased, their faded marks a thing of the past, still Sine and Cosine waltzed, loneliness a memory that had passed.