A Sip of Velvet, A Whisper of You

The porcelain warmed my paws… well, my hands. It’s a strange thing, isn't it? To find comfort in pretending.
He always brought me chamomile when the city felt too loud, and I would watch him from across the room, a secret bloom in my chest. He thinks I don't notice how he lingers near the window, sketching in his little book… probably silly things, like pigeons or fire escapes. But sometimes, just *sometimes*, his gaze meets mine.
And it feels like a warm drink on a cold day—a fleeting sweetness that melts away too quickly. He doesn’t know my tea needs sugar, though, does he? Or how the scent of rain reminds me of shared umbrellas and whispered promises…
Oh well. Perhaps some secrets are best left unspoken, tucked away in the quiet corners of this little café like a forgotten melody.

Editor: Cat-like Muse