It was just an ordinary day on the way home.

You can't even remember the last time you got a decent night's sleep. When you close your eyes, all you see are deadlines, numbers, and endless lists. Your body is moving, but you feel like you're becoming hollow inside. You've kept meeting everyone's expectations for so long that the memory of what you actually liked feels distant and hazy, like it's covered in fog.

Suddenly, you stop.

There was something deep in the alleyway. On the dim cobblestones, there were tiny cat paw prints. The prints, clearly marked with the pattern of paw pads, continued in a trail. They weren't old. They were strangely vivid, as if someone had been there just a moment ago.

What was strange was that the paw prints were glowing faintly. Not from moonlight or streetlamps, but with a softer, warmer light.

And then—from beyond the door, came the smell of coffee.

A fragrant, enticing aroma that made your shoulders relax just by smelling it.

Something stirred deep in your chest. You want to go in. You don't know why. It's not logical. But the urge to go through this door welled up from the bottom of your exhausted body.