Chapter 95

Snow had been falling since morning—soft, patient flakes that turned the streets into a quiet white blanket. The city felt slower like this, almost hesitant to move forward.

Jennie pulled her coat tighter as she and Lisa stepped out of the small bakery, warm bags of pastries in hand.

“Why is it always colder when we say we’ll just do a quick walk?” Jennie muttered, exhaling a puff of air that vanished instantly.

Lisa laughed, already walking backward for a few steps just to watch Jennie struggle dramatically with her scarf. “Because you always say ‘quick walk’ and then stop at every cute thing you see.”

“I do not—”

A faint sound cut through her protest.

A tiny, weak mewl.

They both froze.

Lisa tilted her head first. “Did you hear that?”

Jennie nodded slowly, eyes scanning the snow-dusted alley beside the bakery. The sound came again, softer this time, like it was trying not to be heard.

They followed it.

Behind a stack of cardboard boxes near a closed shop, something small moved.

Lisa crouched immediately. “Oh no…”

Curled up in the snow was a kitten. So small it almost disappeared into the white ground. Its fur was damp, trembling, and it tried to lift its head when it noticed them—but only managed a weak blink.

Jennie’s expression softened instantly. “It’s freezing.”

Lisa carefully removed her glove and held her hand out first, slow and gentle. “Hey, little one…”

The kitten flinched at first, then hesitated—like it was deciding whether hope was safe. After a long second, it leaned forward just slightly.

Jennie already had her coat half-open. “We’re not leaving it here.”

Lisa didn’t argue. She just nodded. “We’re absolutely not.”

Jennie knelt beside her and carefully scooped the kitten up, wrapping it immediately in the inside of her coat. The tiny body shivered against her warmth.

“Oh, sweetheart…” Jennie whispered, softer than her usual voice, brushing snow off its head with her thumb.

Lisa watched, smiling faintly. “You look like you’ve adopted a child.”

Jennie didn’t look up. “We have adopted a child.”

Lisa blinked. “We didn’t discuss this.”

Jennie finally met her eyes. “We’re discussing it now.”

The kitten let out another small sound, curling deeper into Jennie’s coat like it had already made its decision.

Lisa sighed, defeated in the most affectionate way possible. “Okay. But I get naming rights.”

Jennie narrowed her eyes playfully. “Absolutely not.”

They started walking back, faster now, both of them shielding the tiny bundle between them from the wind. Snowflakes clung to Lisa’s hair, and Jennie kept adjusting her coat to make sure the kitten stayed warm.

Halfway home, the kitten peeked out for the first time, blinking slowly at Lisa.

Lisa gasped. “It looked at me.”

Jennie smirked. “Don’t get emotional. It just opened its eyes.”

“I think it chose me.”

Jennie snorted. “It is literally asleep on me.”

Back at their apartment, everything turned into gentle chaos.

Jennie set up a soft towel nest while Lisa ran around finding a small bowl, warm milk, and anything that looked remotely “kitten appropriate,” which included a spoon she insisted might be useful.

“It is not eating soup,” Jennie said flatly.

“It might be a soup kind of kitten.”

“It is not.”

The kitten, now warm and slightly more awake, sat in the middle of the towel pile, looking very offended at both of them.

Lisa knelt down slowly. “Okay… we need a name.”

Jennie sat beside her. “We need to make sure it’s okay first.”

The kitten sneezed.

Lisa immediately pointed. “That’s a sign. It wants a strong name.”

Jennie raised a brow. “A sneeze is not destiny.”

But when the kitten finally curled up between them—completely safe, finally still—the argument faded.

Lisa softened. “It was alone out there.”

Jennie nodded quietly. “Not anymore.”

A pause settled between them, warm and calm, the kind that felt like home.

Lisa glanced at the kitten again. “What about… Snow?”

Jennie smiled slightly. “That’s actually not bad.”

The kitten yawned like it approved.

Lisa gasped again. “It agreed!”

Jennie laughed, leaning her shoulder lightly against Lisa’s. “It is literally asleep.”

But neither of them moved.

Because Snow had already made itself comfortable—curled between two people who had stopped on a cold winter walk and accidentally found something small enough to change the whole shape of their day.

And maybe a little more than that.