Her pov ...
Kanaka is warm.
Softer than she looks.
She blinks up at me, slow and lazy, like she knows something I don't.
"So he named you Kanaka, huh?"
She doesn't answer, obviously.
But her tail flicks like she's thinking about it.
"Because of the golden pearls in your pretty eyes…" I whisper, brushing a finger gently over her fur.
It fits.
It really does.
I glance toward the bathroom door.
"Kanaka. Swarna."
My voice is barely there.
"Both means gold."
Of course they get along.
My chest aches a little. I pretend it doesn't.
I pretend a lot of things.
Then I hear his voice.
Cool. Teasing.
"Are you talking to the cat about me?"
I don't reply.
Can't.
I keep petting Kanaka instead.
He sits across us, quiet.
I can feel his gaze—so loud without saying anything.
I like how safe it makes me feel.
I try to focus on the warmth in my lap.
But the cold in my bones is louder.
He asks, "Are you okay?"
And I make the mistake of looking up.
I shouldn't have.
Because the second I do, everything unravels.
The knots in my throat, the pressure behind my eyes, the cold that's been sitting in my chest for days—it all spills out.
Tears fall without warning.
Without permission.
He moves so quickly, but gently.
Blanket.
Warmth.
His arms around me.
I don't know why I hold on so tight.
Like I'll disappear if I don't.
I don't know how long I cry.
Long enough for my fingers to go numb.
Long enough to feel weightless.
He doesn't move.
He doesn't ask anything.
Just lets me… exist.
When I finally stop, my head ends up on his chest.
His shirt is damp.
I hope he doesn't mind.
Kanaka curls beside us again.
His arms don't loosen.
He holds me like something precious.
I close my eyes.
And for the first time in a long time—
I don't feel alone.
I hate feeling alone. I have done so many things alone even though I needed someone, but that doesn't mean that I have mastered the art of not feeling alone.