The city stretched out before us like a living painting, each street corner a brushstroke of memories waiting to be made. We wandered without a map, led only by the pulse of our shared excitement, slipping through crowds and quiet lanes alike.
In the golden hush of the afternoon, we stumbled upon a small bookstore tucked between cafés, its faded sign swaying gently in the breeze. It felt like stepping into another world, the scent of old pages and hidden stories wrapping around us like an invisible hug.
While you explored the shelves, my eyes caught on a kitten small, white with gray patches, nestled between a stack of forgotten novels. She meowed softly, locking eyes with you as if she had been waiting for us.
I picked her up carefully, feeling her tiny heartbeat against my palms. You smiled, that beautiful, full smile that made the world tilt a little, and said, "Looks like she found her home."
At the counter, while you held the kitten close, I spotted a worn copy of The Dark Face of Love by Beck the same book whispered about in the You series. It felt poetic, almost destined. We bought it along with a small bed and a little collar for our new family member. Whiskers, we decided to name her.
She purred the whole walk home.