One gloomy morning, while peeking outside after a downpour, Mehroosh heard a faint, desperate cry. Following the sound, she tiptoed into the alley beside her home and found a tiny, soaking kitten - shivering, scared, and wounded.
Mehroosh knelt down and whispered, "Don't be afraid. I'm here now."
She named her Whiskers.
From that day on, they became inseparable. Mehroosh would read aloud to Whiskers, tell her secrets, and curl up beside her after school. Whiskers was more than a pet - she was a listener, a silent comfort, a friend. Every night, as Mehroosh stared at the ceiling with thoughts too big for her age, Whiskers would purr gently, as if to say, You're not alone.
Whiskers healed, and so did Mehroosh. Her laughter returned, her eyes lit up again. Even her parents noticed the change. One evening, her father stood silently at the doorway, watching Mehroosh and Whiskers sleeping soundly together - peaceful, finally.
But time is never still.
One cold winter morning, Whiskers didn't move much. The vet gently explained that her little heart was weakening. Mehroosh clutched her, whispering stories of brighter days, singing lullabies she had never sung before. Love, she believed, could save her.
But love doesn't always stop time.
Whiskers passed away one starless night, her fragile body tucked in Mehroosh's arms. The pain was sharp, like a storm inside her chest. She buried Whiskers beneath the old oak tree in their garden, placing a piece of her favorite blue ribbon by her side.
Days turned into weeks. Mehroosh would sit by that tree, whispering into the wind, eyes searching the sky for signs of her little friend.
Then one evening, as the sky blushed with the colors of a setting sun, a soft breeze kissed her cheek, and a single white feather floated onto her lap.
Mehroosh smiled, tears shining in her eyes.
"She's still with me," she whispered.
And maybe - just maybe - she was.