Luna kept rubbing against his legs, meowing with almost childlike joy.

She never acted like that. Not with anyone.

It shook me even more.

He looked down at her, a tender smile on his lips.

"You’re looking good, huh?" he said, scratching the top of her head. "It’s nice to see you like this."

Then he looked up at me, his gaze turning a little more serious, a little worried.

"Are you feeling better since the other day?"

I raised an eyebrow, confused.

"The other day?"

He looked at me as if I should already understand, then furrowed his brow slightly.

"I found you unconscious by the side of the road... two days ago. You were alone, pale, and... your cat wouldn’t stop meowing next to you. She’s the one who led me to you."

My heart skipped a beat. I remembered the episode—the panic, the sudden memories... and then the blank afterward.

"It was you… who brought me to the infirmary?" I asked, barely audible.

He ran a nervous hand behind his neck, a bit shy.

"Yeah. I couldn’t just leave you there. You looked so... fragile. And then she looked at me like she was begging me to help."

I looked at Luna, who was slowly blinking, as calm as ever.

"Thank you… for bringing me back," I said sincerely, still a little shaken.

He smiled gently, then looked around, as if realizing again where we were.

"And you? What are you doing here? It’s rare to run into anyone in this old greenhouse..."

"I was taking pictures," I replied, a bit embarrassed. "And... I wanted to see if maybe I could take care of it. It has potential. At least, I think so..."

I lowered my eyes, realizing I must sound a bit crazy for wanting to garden in such a run-down place.

"It’s not a bad idea," he said, nodding. "This place needs life."

He stepped aside slightly, moving away from his sculpture.

"I come here to sculpt," he added. "It helps me think. Breathe."

I finally looked at the statue now that he had moved away a little: it was a feminine figure, slender, with indistinct features, but a striking softness. Like a forgotten presence.

"It’s beautiful..." I murmured. "Who is it?"

He stayed silent for a moment, gazing at his sculpture.

"Someone I often dream about..." he finally answered, almost nostalgically.

He slowly turned his head toward me, his green eyes meeting mine, as if searching for an answer he didn’t dare say out loud.

"Maybe one day I’ll understand why."

Luna left the young man's lap and walked toward the sculpture, her feline eyes locked on the stone figure.

I frowned, intrigued. Usually, she didn’t pay attention to inanimate objects. But now, she approached slowly, almost cautiously. Then, without warning, she gracefully jumped onto the sculpture’s base and settled there, right at the figure’s feet.

She closed her eyes and began to purr softly.

"That’s... strange," I murmured. "She never does that."

The young man tilted his head slightly, looking troubled.

"She’s done it before, you know."

I turned to him, surprised.

"What do you mean?"

He knelt beside the sculpture, watching Luna carefully.

"Four days ago, I dreamed of this statue. I sculpted it when I woke up, purely by instinct. And not long after, Luna came here. It was the first time she’d entered the greenhouse. She lay down in the exact same spot. As if she recognized someone."

A shiver ran down my spine.

"You dreamed of this statue… before you found me unconscious?"

"Way before, yeah. But I had never seen you before that day."

I looked more closely at the statue. It wasn’t exactly me, but... there was something familiar. A strange sensation, like an ancient memory surfacing.

Luna opened one eye and stared at me intently. That kind of meaningful, almost human look that sometimes made me feel like she knew everything about me. Maybe even more than I did.

"Do you think... it’s me in your statue?" I asked, almost against my will.

The young man looked at me for a long moment, as if hesitating.

"I don’t know," he answered quietly.

He placed his hand on Luna’s head, and she purred louder, then he looked up at me with a warmth that was almost disarming.

We sat on a bench, in the shade of a wall covered with ivy and climbing jasmine, and we resumed our conversation, as if time had frozen in that forgotten greenhouse. We talked about photography, sculpture, art, gardening... Passions that, strangely enough, connected us.

He shared his sandwich with me—a simple gesture, but it warmed my heart. Luna slept peacefully on his lap, as if she had always belonged there. Her soft, purring presence added a touch of warmth to that suspended moment.

We laughed. We talked. Over and over, without noticing time slipping by.

Then the bell rang. 6 p.m.

"Oh... is it that late already?" I breathed, a touch of sadness in my voice.

He looked at me, hesitated a moment, then reached out and gently caught a strand of my hair. He brought it to his lips and kissed it.

"Can we talk again?" he asked, his low voice tinged with disarming sincerity.

His gaze locked onto mine.

An intense gaze—the calm confidence of a predator. Determined. It contrasted sharply with the emerald green of his eyes—deep, luminous, almost hypnotic. I lost my breath. My heart skipped a beat. My cheeks flushed.

Blushing, I stood up quickly, scooped Luna into my arms, and grabbed my camera.

"Maybe," I said, a shy smile playing on my lips.

And I rushed out of the greenhouse, heart pounding wildly.

Back in my room, I slammed the door shut behind me and leaned against it, sliding slowly to the floor, feeling both drained and electrified. I covered my face with my hands, unable to contain the overflowing joy.

I had never talked with someone for so long. Never laughed like that. Never felt this kind of fire inside me.

I held the strand of hair he had kissed. Just a strand, but it burned in my palm as if it were made of light.

His smile haunted my thoughts. His voice still echoed in my head. And his gaze... that determined gaze that seemed to see me—truly see me—beyond all my masks.

"Can we talk again?..."

My heart was racing. I felt alive again. And yet...

I looked up at the mirror. The euphoria crashed into reality.

My hair, black as ink, with a white streak on the side. My pale, almost corpse-like skin. My heterochromatic eyes that made people look away. My gloved hands. My large glasses that hid everything.

I curled up on myself, arms wrapped around my legs, head resting on my knees. A wave of solitude washed over me—familiar and cold.

"Who would want to keep talking to a girl like me?" I whispered. "Of course… he’ll end up being afraid too."

A silence. Then a sigh.

"Oh… I forgot to ask his name," I said in a breath filled with sadness and regret.