I knew there was something different about Max from the moment I first saw him. He wasn’t just a handsome dog with sculpted muscles and intelligent eyes—he carried an air of mystery, a presence that felt as if he had once been more than just an animal.

That night, we were sitting on the balcony, watching the moon, when he let out a deep sigh and spoke in his familiar, masculine voice:

— "I need to tell you the truth, even if you don’t believe me."

I turned to him slowly. I wasn’t surprised to hear him speak—I had long suspected there was a secret behind him—but there was a weight in his tone that I had never heard before.

— "I… wasn’t always a dog."

I stared at him, unable to speak. He lifted his head, gazing at the moon, the silver light reflecting off his fur, making him look like a legendary statue.

— "I used to be a man. A man who loved you, just as I still do." His voice was quiet, as if the words pained him. "But I was cursed… doomed to live on all fours, forced to stay away from you like this, unable to touch you, to hold you the way I want to."