The voice seemed to linger in the air even after it had stopped speaking, echoing softly, fading into the soft hum of the room.
I sat back, my fingers still grazing the cold surface of the phone. The surroundings appeared hazy, like a painting obscured by time and dust, the colors muted, the details blurred.
The only vivid color was a lone cat, deep blue, curled up on a nearby armchair, its eyes a striking shade of amber.
“Who am I?” I whispered to myself, the weight of the question pressing on my chest. I felt like I was floating in an endless sea of memories, grasping at fragments that slipped through my fingers like fine sand.
There was a soft rustling, and the cat uncurled itself, stretching languidly. It sauntered over, tail swishing, and sat beside me. Its gaze was deep, and for a fleeting moment, I felt like it understood my confusion, my quest.
“You’ve always been here, you know,” the cat murmured, its voice sounding like wind rustling through autumn leaves. “But sometimes, we forget. Sometimes, the heart needs a nudge to remember.”
I stared, transfixed, into its amber eyes, and images began to flood my mind.
Part 5
