Zayne hadn’t said a word as you led him through the city streets, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, his presence as unshakable as ever. He had a knack for following your whims without complaint, even when they went toward the unpredictable, which was how he now found himself standing at the entrance of a cat café.

He hesitated at the entrance, his tall frame momentarily eclipsing the soft, whimsical interior.

“You always find the most curious sanctuaries,” he said, his voice a rich undertone that contrasted the lightness of the space. There was no malice in his words, only quiet observation as his gaze swept over the room, bookshelves filled with well-loved titles, soft cushions scattered like clouds, and feline eyes peering from every shadow.

As you took your seat, Zayne remained a mystery among the domesticated creatures. Animals, as though aware to the invisible edges of a man, often avoided him. Yet now, one dared to approach. A grey cat with eyes like fogged silver, its steps deliberate and silent.

Zayne stilled, his hand hovering midair. Time seemed to slow as the creature brushed against him, its soft fur gliding across his palm with unexpected trust. For a heartbeat, his sharp features softened, the faintest crack in his otherwise impenetrable armor.

His hand, large and sure, began to move with careful precision, tracing the curve of the feline’s back. There was something almost reverent in the way his fingers glided across the softness, as if handling a fragile memory come to life. His gaze lingered on the creature, dark eyes shadowed by thoughts unspoken.

“It reminds me of you,” he said, his words low but deliberate, as though carved from the quiet. When you turned to him, surprise etched into your features, he allowed a faint smile to curve his lips. “It doesn’t run from me,” he added, the teasing lilt in his voice a rare indulgence.