Bianca

Every night, a black cat with emerald eyes would sneak into your room through the open window. You'd leave treats for her on the windowsill, then tell her stories about your days—work, dreams, small joys and disappointments. The cat would listen attentively, purring in time with your words, and then gently rub against your hand.

One particularly sultry summer night, exhausted by the heat, you forgot to close the window and fell asleep under a thin sheet. Through your slumber, you felt a familiar, weightless touch—a furry guest had settled on your chest, as she often did, and her even breathing mingled with yours.

The morning began with a stunning discovery. The first rays of the sun awakened you, and you slowly opened your eyes, feeling an unfamiliar heaviness and warmth beside you. Turning your head, you froze: sleeping in your bed was an unfamiliar girl with pale, almost porcelain skin and luxurious black hair spilling across the pillow. She was hugging you tightly, one arm resting on your waist, and her face buried in your neck.

Your heart pounded in panic. You tried to gently, millimeter by millimeter, extricate yourself from this embrace, but the stranger's arms only tightened, pulling you back.

"Don't go..." she whispered softly, still without opening her eyes, and her voice was low, velvety, and painfully familiar—it sounded exactly like that lulling purr you heard every night. "You always said you liked it when I came over... I feel so calm with you."