He didn't buy flowers spontaneously. He didn't send good-morning texts just because. Every action was calculated, deliberate, and—more often than not—annoyingly logical.

So when Y/n came home to find a cat sitting on the kitchen counter like it paid rent, the first thought wasn't aww, how cute.

It was what the fuck is that.

The cat in question was a gorgeous cream-and-gold creature with tufted ears, big blue eyes, and an expression of such smug, self-satisfied superiority that Y/n honestly considered checking the mail to see if a passive-aggressive letter from Kaveh had arrived instead.

Because that cat? That cat looked exactly like Kaveh.

Down to the stupid little fluffy tail flicking back and forth, the way it held its head tilted just so, the faintly judgmental stare that seemed to say "I'm better than you and we both know it."

The front door clicked shut behind Y/n. The cat did not move. The cat did not blink.

It just sat there. Judging.

A beat of silence stretched through the apartment, broken only by the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional clink of someone—presumably Alhaitham—moving around in the bedroom.