I stood at the edge of silence, where the road hummed like a dare, and the world felt too heavy for feet that had carried too much. The sky didn’t cry for me. The wind didn’t beg me to stay. But then— a whisper, a brush of fur, a meow like a question. Black as midnight, eyes like galaxies, he looked at me like I was still worth choosing. No words. Just presence. Just paws leading me away from the edge into a field where time forgot to tick. I sat. He stayed. And in that stillness, I heard something ancient: It’s not your time. I wanted to keep him, to name him, to thank him. But he belonged to someone else— just passing through, like a shadow with purpose. I walked home with grass in my hair and a heartbeat that hadn’t quit. Because if a cat could see me, maybe I could too.