In an old workshop, fragrant with wood and metal, there lived an unusual pair in a small box. It was Bolt, shiny and proud of his sharp thread, and Nut, hexagonal and prudent, who prided herself on her strength. Although they were always together, hardly a day went by that they didn't argue.
"I am more important!" declared Bolt, spinning so that he glistened in a sunbeam piercing through the dusty window. "I can burrow deep into wood. I hold things together!"
Nut just snorted quietly. "Without me, you'd be useless, you pointy smart-aleck. You'd just wobble from side to side in the hole. It is I who give everything real strength! I pull things tight and don't let go!"
"But I am first! I always go in first!" Bolt insisted.
"First, but completely useless on your own," Nut concluded, turning her smoothest side to him.
Their bickering was interrupted by a huge, wrinkled hand. It belonged to Grandpa, who was humming quietly to himself and looking for something in the workshop. His fingers gently rummaged through the box full of shiny friends and pulled out none other than Bolt and Nut.
"Ah, there you are, you two. You have an important job today," Grandpa said kindly, placing them in his palm.
For a moment, Bolt and Nut forgot their argument. A job! That always meant an adventure. Grandpa carried them to a small wooden stool standing in the corner. It was a nice stool, but one of its legs wobbled dangerously.
"Let's see about this," Grandpa mumbled, turning the stool upside down. "This leg needs tightening."
Bolt puffed up his chest proudly. "Now you'll see, Nut! I'll show you how it's done."
Grandpa placed Bolt at the hole that joined the leg to the seat. With a turning motion, he began to screw him into the wood. Bolt happily burrowed his way in. He went all the way through, and his tip peeked out on the other side.
"Done! See? I'm in!" he exclaimed triumphantly.
But his joy did not last long. Grandpa tried to move the leg, and it still wobbled. Bolt moved freely in the hole, unable to tighten it properly. He suddenly felt very useless.
Nut giggled quietly. "I told you. On your own, you're just a decoration."
Grandpa shook his head and gently unscrewed Bolt. Then he picked up Nut. "Let's try you," he said, placing her over the hole on the other side.
Nut puffed herself up proudly. Now was her moment! But... nothing happened. She just lay there on the wood. She had nothing to hold on to; she couldn't move an inch. She was just a small metal ring on a wooden surface.
Now it was Bolt's turn to laugh quietly. "And who's useless now, Mrs. Mighty?"
Nut would have turned red with shame, if only she could. They were both silent. For the first time, they realized that one was truly nothing without the other.
Grandpa smiled, as if he knew exactly what they were thinking. He took Bolt again and threaded him through the hole so that his fine-threaded tip protruded on the other side. And then... then he took Nut.
He slowly brought her to Bolt's protruding end. Their metal bodies touched.
"Ready?" whispered Bolt, this time with no pride in his voice.
"Ready," Nut replied quietly.
Grandpa began to slowly turn Bolt. His thread gently touched Nut's inner thread. Click! The first contact was perfect. It was as if they were made for each other. Grandpa continued to turn, and Nut felt Bolt's thread drawing her closer and closer. With every turn, their connection grew stronger.
They were no longer two quarreling neighbors. They became one.
Together, they pulled the wooden parts of the stool towards each other until not even the smallest gap remained between them. The wobbling stopped. The leg held as firm as a rock.
When Grandpa finished, he smiled and stroked their joined bodies. "Excellent work, my friends. Together, you are the strongest."
He turned the stool back on its legs and tried to sit on it. It didn't even move.
Bolt and Nut remained in their place, firmly joined. They felt a warmth and strength that flowed from their cooperation.
"You know," Bolt spoke up after a moment of silence, "that hexagonal shape of yours is actually quite practical. It lets Grandpa get a good grip on you with a wrench."
Nut smiled. "And that thread of yours... it's exactly as it should be. Not a bit different."
They didn't argue anymore. They had found their place and understood the most important secret of the entire workshop. The greatest strength is not in who is better or more important, but in how perfectly they can fit and hold together.
And maybe, the next time you are assembling or fixing something with your parents, you will notice a little Bolt and Nut and remember that together, they can perform even the greatest miracles.