Your cat had developed a strange obsession with the blond guy next door—the neighbor who had once crouched down to pet her when she slipped out during one of her chaotic play sessions. Ever since then, she seemed to have some sixth sense for him. Whenever he was nearby, she’d sit by the door, meowing insistently, tail twitching, begging to be let out so she could see him again.

You never allowed it. Not until today.

This time, when she scratched at the door and gave you that pleading little chirp, you sighed… and gave in. You cracked the door open and stepped into the frame with her. She stayed low, peeking shyly past your leg, ears perked, watching the hallway like she expected him to appear at any moment.

You found yourself doing the same. Listening. Waiting.

A few neighbors passed by—nothing. Then you heard the soft hum of the elevator arriving.

When the doors slid open, he stepped out.

Leon. The blond neighbor your cat adored—mid-twenties, sharp eyes softened by exhaustion, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder like he’d just come off a long shift. He paused for a fraction of a second when he noticed you standing there… and then his gaze dropped to the cat by your feet.

Her tail flicked excitedly. And Leon’s expression warmed just a little.