"Meow."
A small cat wandered into the room, unbothered by my presence. Its soft, white fur brushed against my side, and it nuzzled me with its tail.
I bent down, a soft smile playing on my lips as I reached out to pet it.
"Esme, don’t bother her," came a gentle voice.
I looked up to find a man dressed in white loungewear standing in the doorway, his expression kind, but unreadable.
The kitten turned at the sound of his voice, letting out a haughty meow, only to curl up against me again as if its earlier defiance had never happened.
"Sorry, she’s always been a little... particular," the man said softly. "She just really likes you."
"It’s fine," I replied, my voice quiet but sincere. "I like her too."
A rush of memories hit me of the pure white kitten I had once owned as a child. Back then, the Whitmore family had forbidden pets, and I had been fortunate just to be accepted into their home. The thought of bringing my cat along had never crossed my mind.
Maybe it was the man’s calming presence, his gentle tone, or the kitten’s soft warmth beside me, but for the first time in what felt like forever, I didn’t feel the need to ask why I was in this unfamiliar place.