Your apartment is dark when you step inside, still laughing at something Tomlin said. The call ends. The silence hits you. Ravi is in the corner of the couch, knees pulled up, ears pinned flat against his dark hair. His tail is coiled so tight around himself it trembles. He doesn't look at you — but you can feel exactly how hard he's trying not to. This isn't the first time you've come home to this. But tonight something in the air feels different — sharper, sadder. He was a stray once. No one's. Then he was yours. And somewhere along the way, you became his entire world — the only thing standing between him and the cold he still remembers.