Arya's P.O.V.

The cold seeps through my jacket, cutting right to the bone. The fog hangs heavy, shrouding everything in an eerie silence, like the world itself is holding its breath. It's Sunday, 10 AM, and the sun seems to have decided to play hide and seek today. Asim had messaged me last night, a simple request to meet at the bus stop. I pondered ignoring it, telling myself that I won't let anyone dictate my actions, especially not after everything that's happened.

But here I am, standing in the numbing cold, waiting for something, or someone. Maybe it's the desperation to escape the suffocating solitude that drove me here. I'm so tired of being treated like fragile glass as if I might shatter at the slightest touch. As if any funny comment or joke would shatter me. It's disheartening to see people stifle their laughter when I join them as if the very act of enjoying a moment is disrespectful in my presence. Laughter used to be a familiar melody in my life, and now it feels like a song I can't quite remember the lyrics to.

The constant barrage of "Are you okay?" questions, well-intentioned as they may be, only serves to magnify the gaping void Meghna left behind. I appreciate the concern, I really do, but in those moments, I long for the simplicity of the past, for the days when normalcy was an effortless state of being.

Maybe, just maybe, I want to feel normal again, like a teenager who can navigate through life without the weight of tragedy on her shoulders. I crave the time when people didn't hesitate to crack a joke or share a funny story around me, not tiptoeing on eggshells, afraid that their words might be the final straw. It's a paradox-I want to feel normal again, even though I know that normalcy is now a distant memory. Everything has changed, and yet, the yearning for the familiar lingers.

The passing cars create fleeting shadows in the fog, and I pull my jacket tighter around myself as if it could shield me from the harsh reality I'm facing. The thought of seeing Asim after all this time stirs a mix of emotions within me. Three months, an eternity, and a blink of an eye, all at once. I haven't spoken to him since Meghna left us, left me.

The bus wheezes to a stop before me, and a handful of passengers disembark into the chilly air. And there, standing at the door, is Asim, a silhouette against the pale fog. His voice cuts through the cold, "C'mon lazy snail princess, get on. No chariot for you today."

A smirk plays on my lips, and I exhale a puff of mist into the frigid air. "Lazy snail on a chariot seems like an imagination of a python to me," I retort, my attempt at levity on this frosty morning. Asim chuckles, making way for me to board.

The bus is mostly empty, the vacant seats bearing witness to the unforgiving cold outside. We find a spot to settle in, and I can't help but ask, "So, may I know where this python is going to attack today?"

Asim, hands tucked into his coat, smirks and replies, "Why don't the snail princess see it for herself?"

Leaning back into my seat, I shoot Asim a mischievous grin. "Well, Mr. Python Tour Guide, just hope your serpent doesn't take us to some boring meadow. I've had enough of life's picnics lately."

Asim leans back in his seat, a glint of mischief in his eyes, "Don't worry about the boredom part, because this adventure is really dangerous, they may kill you. You may need a survival kit for it."

I arch an eyebrow at Asim, a smirk playing on my lips. "Survival kit? Please, I've some experience, I've been surviving the wreckage of a Python without one. I think I can handle your so-called dangerous adventure."

Asim laughs, the sound echoing in the nearly empty bus, "We'll see that."

The bus jolts to a stop, and Asim rises from his seat. I follow suit, stepping off the bus into the biting winter breeze. The chilly tendrils play with my hair, sending a shiver down my spine. Asim chuckles and nudges me.

"You can cover your head with that hood, no one's gonna judge ya. You're not gonna win some fashion queen label," he teases.

I shoot him a sidelong glance before complying, pulling the hood over my head. The fabric shields me from the wind, but it does little to ease the chill that has seeped into my bones. Asim starts walking, and I fall in step beside him. The moisture in the air is almost tangible, clinging to us like an invisible sheen.

Silence envelops us as we navigate the damp streets, our footsteps echoing in the quiet. The occasional passing car disrupts the tranquility. The road corners glisten with wetness, reflecting the streetlights like a distorted mosaic. Every tree leaf wears a sheen of raindrops, a testament to the moist embrace of the weather.

I can't help but break the silence, a comment escaping my lips, "Dang, who's gonna believe it was sunny yesterday."

Asim turns, raising an eyebrow, a hint of surprise in his eyes. "Is this the same Arya? Engaging in small talk about the weather?"

And embarrassment seeps through me and I quickly quash any misconception.

"Shut up," I retort, delivering a swift kick to the back of Asim's leg.

Asim's chuckle reverberates through the air, and I can't help but feel a twinge of embarrassment. Before I can conjure a witty retort, Asim diverts my attention.

"Here we are," he announces, pointing towards the building nearby.

I lift my eyes, and there it is, standing innocently amid the mist, a quaint building that seems to defy the gloom around it. The board proudly declares, "Purradise Haven," and I can't help but crack a smile at the clever play of words. The facade is adorned with colorful drawings of cats, each one adding a touch of whimsy to the solemnity of the morning.

Turning to Asim, I find him looking at me with a knowing gleam in his eyes. "A cat shelter," he says, answering the unspoken question that hovers in the air. "We're volunteering here today."

Before I can articulate my thoughts, Asim swings the door open and strides inside. I follow, and as the door creaks shut behind me, a world of warmth and softness envelops me. The cozy interior feels like a stark contrast to the chilly outdoors.

The gentle hum of fluorescent lights above casts a comforting glow, revealing a haven for feline friends. Shelves lined with toys and scratching posts, and the faint rustle of paper emanates from corners where curious cats investigate cardboard boxes. The air carries the unmistakable scent of fresh hay and catnip, a soothing blend that welcomes us into this haven.

Cats of various colors and sizes lounge in cozy nooks or playfully pounce on dangling toys. Their soft purrs create a melody that resonates within the walls, a reassuring sound that momentarily eases the weight on my shoulders.

"Hey there!" the shelter staff member, a warm-hearted individual with a contagious enthusiasm for the feline residents, welcomes us with a genuine smile. The name tag reads 'Lily,' and her passion for the welfare of these furry creatures shines through. Her eyes, a shade of warm hazel, gleam with a genuine kindness that seems to have a language of its own. They crinkle at the corners as she smiles, her hair, a cascade of chestnut waves, frames her face in a way that echoes her friendly demeanor.

"Welcome to Purradise Haven," Lily greets us, her voice carrying an infectious cheerfulness that instantly lifts my spirits. "I'm so glad you could join us today. We rely on wonderful volunteers like you to make a difference in these cats' lives."

She leads us to a cozy corner where one more girl is standing, wearing a distinct aura of devotion to the cause. Lily starts the orientation, by explaining the daily routines and tasks involved in caring for the residents of Purradise Haven.

"First things first," she begins, "we prioritize the well-being of our feline friends. They depend on us for love and care, and your presence here makes a world of difference."

Her words paint a picture of the shelter's routines. Feeding times, play sessions, and even quiet moments for the more introverted cats-all contribute to maintaining a harmonious environment. The cats, she assures us, each has a unique personality, and part of our role is to understand and cater to their individual needs.

"Their health is paramount," Lily emphasizes, "so we'll be cleaning their living spaces, ensuring they have fresh water, and of course, giving them plenty of affection. A happy cat is a healthy cat!"

"Feel free to ask questions, interact with the cats, and most importantly, enjoy the experience," She encourages with a warm smile. "Your presence makes a significant impact on these furballs, and we're grateful to have you here."

Asim and I find ourselves in a corner, surrounded by curious eyes and twitching tails. Asim takes charge, grabbing a broom and dustpan like he's done this a thousand times before. It's a dance of familiarity, the way he moves with practiced ease, sweeping away any trace of yesterday's play. The cats seem to sense it too, gathering around him as if he's the cat whisperer they've been waiting for.

He kneels down, his fingers deftly maneuvering around the toys and scratching posts. The cats watch, their eyes glinting with anticipation. And then, as if on cue, he begins to talk to them. His voice, a gentle melody, fills the room.

"Well, hello there, little fluffballs! What are you guys up to today?" Asim's playful tone elicits a purr from a nearby cat, its tail flicking in delight. "Aww look at you, golden ball of purr. What have you been up to?"

I watch in awe as Asim engages in a playful banter with the cats, each word carrying a genuine warmth that seems reserved just for them. He reaches for a feather wand, waving it in the air like a magician conjuring secrets. The cats follow the movement with wide-eyed fascination, their tails swishing in excitement.

"Ah, the feather dance! Seems exciting, doesn't it?" Asim chuckles, his eyes twinkling. "Now, who wants to be the star of today's performance?" A bold tabby cat leaps forward, batting at the feather with unbridled enthusiasm. Asim encourages the little furball with a laugh, his gestures mirroring the playful energy of the cats around him.

The room comes alive with the sounds of joy-gentle purrs, the soft padding of paws, and Asim's laughter blending seamlessly. As he continues to play and interact with the cats, I find myself smiling, a genuine, unguarded smile. It's a sight that warms my heart-the guy who once used to get on my nerves easily, without even trying, now transformed into the cat-loving, playful soul who talks to them like they're little kids.

He twirls the feather wand with finesse, earning approving nods from his feline audience. Amidst the playful chaos, Asim finally glances in my direction, his eyes locking onto mine.

"Well, look who decided to join the party!" Asim smirks, his tone playful. "I thought you were more of a lone wolf, Arya. Cats might steal your thunder."

I roll my eyes but can't help the smirk that tugs at my lips. "I prefer having my own kingdom, thank you very much. Wolves are too mainstream."

Asim chuckles, setting the feather wand aside. "Not a cat fan, then?"

I hesitate for a moment before cautiously sliding beside him, keeping a safe distance from the feline festivities. "Let's just say I'm more of a 'less hair on my clothes' person."

He grins, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Ah, a practical choice. Less shedding, more sanity. I can respect that."

Before I can reply, a white cat decides to grace my lap with its presence. Its curious gaze fixates on my nails, and a tiny paw reaches out as if inspecting my manicure...well didn't have any in ages tho.

I chuckle, feeling a strange warmth as the cat continues to explore my hands. Asim joins in the fun, talking to the cat in a voice that can only be described as 'baby talk for cats.' "Oh, what's this, little one? Arya's nails are top-notch, aren't they? So shiny and intriguing!"

The cat seems to respond with a soft purr, making itself comfortable on my lap. I can't help but feel a flutter in my chest, an unfamiliar tenderness that I thought had disappeared with Meghna.

As the cat continues its fascination with my nails, I find myself saying, almost to myself, "Meghna used to love cats. I was more of a dog person, or at least that's what I always told her."

Asim glances at me, his playful demeanor softening. "Pets have a way of leaving pawprints on our hearts, don't they?"

I nod, my gaze fixed on the cat in my lap. "Maybe. She always wanted to have one, but Dad didn't like pets or animals in general, so we never got one...so no idea."

The white cat on my lap hesitantly leans towards my arm, its eyes conveying a silent request for a gentle pat. I comply, running my fingers through its soft fur, feeling the warmth that has now become a shared comfort. The cat, seemingly satisfied, slowly snuggles into the cozy folds of my coat, finding solace in the unexpected embrace.

Asim's voice breaks the gentle hum of the room. "My mom used to come here often," he says, a small chuckle tinged with sadness escaping his lips. I look up to find him, scratching the neck of another cat, its expression resembling that of a master ordering its loyal servant to fulfill its every desire.

"Used to?" I inquire, my voice soft, carrying a weight of understanding.

Asim sighs, his gaze momentarily drifting to the memories painted across the walls of Purradise Haven. "Yeah, she practically lived here most days. Cats were her escape, I guess."

"You know, Arya," he begins, his eyes distant, "when I was eleven, my mom... she had this thing called Anorexia nervosa. It's like this monster that takes over and makes you believe you're never enough. She's too young, too beautiful for that kind of darkness."

His words hang in the air, heavier than the silence that follows. I sit there, a spectator to a pain I haven't glimpsed in Asim before. The room seems to dim as he continues, describing the cruel grasp of a condition too complex for an eleven-year-old to comprehend.

"I didn't understand it back then, didn't know why Mom refused to eat, why she seemed to wither away. She's fighting a battle, Arya, and I'm just a clueless kid caught in the crossfire."

His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I glimpse the vulnerability beneath his usual playfulness. "One morning, I went to her room. It was like any other day, until I saw my brother and dad there, tears streaming down their faces. She... she had... you know," his voice falters, unable to give voice to the unspeakable.

I can't fathom the pain he must carry, witnessing something so devastating at such a tender age. Asim's eyes, usually lively and mischievous, now hold a haunted sadness.

"It was her sanctuary," Asim continues, a wistful smile playing on his lips. "When life got too much, she found solace in these furry companions. Mom used to say they understood her in a way no one else could."

I feel a pang of empathy, realizing the depth of Asim's connection with this place and the memories it holds. Purradise Haven wasn't just a shelter for him; it was a part of his family's story, a chapter that now echoes with both joy and sorrow.

Asim shifts his attention back to the cat, his touch gentle yet filled with a certain reverence. "She loved every one of them, knew their names, their quirks. It was her own little haven, her way of finding peace in the chaos."

"I didn't get it, Arya. Not then. I still struggled to understand why she did it. All I know is that she was fighting a battle, and maybe, just maybe, she thought leaving was the only way to end it."

I want to reach out, to offer comfort, but the weight of his words keeps me anchored in the shared sorrow of a past neither of us can change. Asim's gaze lingers on a distant memory, and I find myself caught between the pain in his eyes and the realization that some wounds never fully heal.

The white cat on my lap, which had been inspecting my nonexistent manicure with curious eyes, suddenly stirs. It purrs softly before gracefully hopping off and padding over to Asim. Without hesitation, it snuggles into his lap as if it's privy to the unspoken weight in the air, hugging him in a way that only animals seem to comprehend.

Asim chuckles, his eyes reflecting a mixture of surprise and amusement. "Well, aren't you a perceptive little furball?" he says, his tone tender as he pats the cat's head. The feline responds with content purrs, seemingly aware that its presence brings a comforting touch to Asim's world.

"Looks like I've got a new friend," Asim continues, his voice taking on a playful tone. He scratches behind the cat's ears, his movements gentle and filled with a warmth that extends beyond mere petting. "What's your story, huh? Maybe you've got some wisdom to share with us."

The cat, nestled in Asim's lap, responds with a soft meow as if participating in the conversation. Asim's laughter rings through the room, a genuine sound that momentarily lifts the heaviness lingering in the air.

"Alright, furry friend, spill all the beans," Asim jokes, his eyes meeting mine with a mischievous glint. The cat, content in Asim's embrace, purrs in response, as if sharing ancient feline wisdom.

Maybe, you and I are not as different as we think. It could be that we're both traversing parallel paths, separated by a considerable distance. Yet, isn't there a subtle comfort in the realization that within this journey, there is the possibility of encountering someone-a fellow traveler who, though presently distant, may eventually be found along the winding roads of fate?