I crouched near the small playpen where the kitten curled up, purring softly.
My fingers traced the edge of the blanket, careful not to disturb it.
For the first time in weeks, I let myself smile without guilt.
Watching Ken move around the clinic, soft, methodical, and kind, something inside me uncoiled.
It wasn't the Ken I remembered from my dreams, the park, the impossible memories, it was this Ken.
Real.
Alive.
Present.
And that was enough.
I helped him arrange small things around the clinic, swept the floor, tidied a few cages, and even tried to feed a timid puppy that had been hiding in the corner.
Ken watched me quietly, occasionally guiding my hands or offering gentle instruction, and I felt my anxiety fade just a little more with every small success.
"Not bad," he said softly, a teasing glimmer in his eyes. "You've got a way with them."
I rolled my eyes, though a small laugh escaped me. "I just don't want to hurt them. Unlike some people I know."
He chuckled, shaking his head.
That laugh, the warmth, the familiarity, the comfort, it wrapped around me like sunlight. And for the first time in months, I felt safe.
Truly safe.
We spent the afternoon moving through small tasks, and the world outside the clinic faded away.
The city, the streets, the memories that haunted me… none of it mattered. Here, in this little bubble, life felt simple.
Easy.
Human.
I noticed something shifting inside me.
The ache in my chest, the one that had tightened every time I thought of Ken before, was easing.
My laughter came easier.
My hands didn't tremble as much.
Even the memories of my past heartbreak seemed less suffocating.
Ken glanced at me as I helped a young kitten climb into its new carrier. "You're different today," he said softly.
I frowned, unsure. "Different?"
He smiled faintly. "You look… lighter. Happier. Like you're finally letting yourself breathe."
I didn't respond, but I felt it, the weight lifting, the shadows receding.
I let myself just watch him, just exist in this world that, while strange and surreal, was finally letting me find peace.
As the afternoon sun dipped lower, Ken gathered the remaining animals he was treating for the day.
I stayed close, helping him carry supplies and tidy the clinic.
When we were about to leave, he paused and looked at me with that impossible, unwavering gaze.
"You've been here all day… helping, watching, learning," he said. "You've done a lot. How about we keep this day going?"
I tilted my head, unsure what he meant.
"I mean…" His lips curved into a soft, warm smile. "Dinner. Just the two of us. Nothing fancy. Just… you and me."
My heart skipped. I opened my mouth to respond, but words failed me.
Instead, I nodded, a small, tentative motion that somehow spoke volumes.
He reached out and lightly brushed a strand of hair from my face. "Great. I'll pick you up at seven?"
I nodded again, still speechless, but inside my chest, something fierce and thrilling stirred.
Hope.
Excitement.
Anticipation.