I parked in the private garage, like always, killing the engine, just sitting there for a second, letting the quiet hum of the car be the only thing keeping me from thinking too much.
Then I opened the door.
And there she was.
Crouched by the concrete wall near the stairwell, knees tucked close, her long hair spilling forward as she held out her hand to a tiny ginger kitten.
The damn thing was trembling, half-starved, probably living off crumbs and luck. And she was whispering something soft under her breath as she tore little bits of food from a sandwich.
This girl…
Feeding everything and everyone but herself.
Always giving. Always caring. Always finding something broken and trying to fix it, even if she couldn’t fix herself.
I stayed where I was, halfway between the car and the door, frozen like an idiot. She didn’t see me, too focused on the kitten now daring to inch closer, nose twitching as it sniffed her fingers.
And she smiled.
Small. Quiet. Gentle.
Like the kind of smile you’d miss if you blinked too fast. I felt something shift, sharp, familiar, heavy. That same ache that started the first time I realised I didn’t just notice her, I saw her.
I wanted to say something. Tell her she’d get sick sitting on the cold floor. That the kitten would bite her, that she’d give too much again and forget to eat dinner.
But I didn’t.
Because knowing her, she’d just nod, smile, and do it anyway.
So I walked past. Quietly. Didn’t say a word. Didn’t want to scare her or the damn cat. But as I swiped my keycard and stepped into the lobby, I caught myself looking back one more time.
And she was still there, knees on cold concrete, soft hand outstretched, feeding something small and hungry. And for a second, I wondered if I was any different from that kitten.
Always starving.
Always waiting for her to notice me.
The elevator doors slid open with a quiet chime, the kind that echoed too loudly in an empty building. I stepped in and rode up in silence, picturing her still there.
Soon, the door opened again, and I stepped out, key carded into the penthouse. The lights came on automatically, soft, gold, expensive. Everything here was expensive.
The marble floors, the glass walls, the view of the city that everyone else would probably kill for. But all I could think was how dead it felt.
I dropped my keys on the counter. The sound bounced off the walls, sharp and hollow.
Took a slow walk around the place, past the couch she once sat on, the coffee table where she’d spread out her laptop and notes, the kitchen where she ate my food like it was the best thing she’d ever tasted.
It wasn’t. But she made it feel as if it was.
Now the same space felt wrong.
Too still. Too clean. Too… quiet.
I sat down on the couch and leaned back, staring at nothing.
This was supposed to be my peace, my escape from the world, from people. But it turned out I’d got so used to her being here, her quiet presence, her small footsteps, her way of making the air feel lighter, that without it… this place didn’t even feel like mine anymore.
It felt like a cage.
