Fluffy
The new school was spotless, polished, and full of promise. For the teachers, he was a blank slate; for the students, he was just new face, one they shunned. He didn't mind at first, at least, that's what he kept telling himself. But time wore on, and the silence wrapping him got heavier. His steps echoed in corridors, and his voice was swallowed by the void.
Home wasn't any better, just shouting backdrop of chaos: slamming doors, raised voices, his name around like a weapon. He'd retreat to the silence of his room and stare at the cracks in the wall as often as possible.
Teachers criticized him for not knowing answers; his mind too loud grasp their questions. He stopped raising his hand or meeting their eyes. He stopped trying.
One afternoon, slumped on the staircase near the school's back door, a cat white with patches of soft gray, padded over and sat beside him. She cocked her head to one side asking the silent question: why was he so sad?
"Hello there," he whispered, voice breaking. He reached out cautiously, and she leaned into his hand. "You're soft. I'll call you Fluffy.”
From then on, she became his secret solace. He sat on the same staircase every day, waiting for her and, like clockwork, Fluffy would appear, rubbing against his legs, her meows telling him she understood, that he wasn’t alone. He started talking to her telling her about all his frustrations, his loneliness, his dreams.
When he needed to leave, he would stroke her head gently in farewell. For him, when Fluffy meowed, it was an "I love you," and he would whisper in return, "Have a good day.".
Soon, others started noticing. Children would walk by and stare in amazement at Fluffy following him everywhere. They would try to pet her to get her attention, but she went right back to his side. It made him feel special; he felt seen, chosen. He started to enjoy the attention, flaunting Fluffy like a trophy. He basked in their awe, letting himself believe, if only briefly, that he belonged.
Fluffy didn’t like it. One afternoon, surrounded by too many hands and voices, she bolted.
"Fluffy!" he yelled, his voice cracking as he chased after her. She stopped at the far edge of the field and turned to face him, looking at him sadly before disappearing into the bushes.
For the next several days he sat by the staircase, but Fluffy didn't come back. The staircase felt colder and emptier than it had ever been before. He'd realized, too late, what she'd tried to tell him: she wasn't just his escape, he was hers, too. Their time together had meant something to both of them.
Guilt compelled him to find her. He skipped class, searched up and down the streets, yelling out her name until his voice was hoarse.
Then he spotted her. Lying in the road, unnaturally still.
"No," he whispered, falling to his knees beside her. Soft fur streaked with dirt; little body limp. He cradled her in his arms and stroked her head one last time.
Fluffy weakly opened her eyes, and a slight meow escaped. He snuffled, and the tears streamed down his face as he whispered, "I love you too."
