Two days passed.
Grandma now lived in a neighbor's home. Her body had grown weaker—too weak to even walk properly. Her eyes had lost their light, her voice rarely spoke. She stopped eating.
The villagers were heartbroken for her. Everyone respected her, because she had once been the one to help everyone—a kind, generous soul. And now, she was alone.
Yet every day, she returned to the ruins of her home. Hoping. Searching. Whispering Kia's name like a prayer.
Strangely, Mini had changed too.
Her eyes were open now, earlier than expected. But more than that… she had begun to meow—softly. So softly, it was more like a whisper, and only Grandma could hear it.
But it wasn't just meowing. It was… different. Like she was trying to speak. To say something. To communicate—but failing.
And it only happened when Grandma was near.
It made her heart ache even more.
One late night, Grandma lay on the bed in silence, her breathing shallow. Her body had given up, worn out by heartbreak and illness.
Mini sat beside her, unmoving.
She hadn't left her side in two days.
Her tiny eyes were filled with tears. Her small chest rose and fell rapidly, almost as if she could feel the pain of the old woman beside her.
Grandma's eyes fluttered open one last time. She looked at Mini.
And then… she heard it.
Not a meow.
Not a sound.
A voice.
"It's me, Grandma. Kia."
The voice was small. Familiar.
Clear.
Grandma stared at Mini with wide eyes.
She took one final breath.
And then closed her eyes forever.
The villagers gathered to say goodbye.
They lit incense, offered prayers, and performed the final rites with great love and respect.
After the funeral, they placed the kitten, Mini, gently on the street outside.
"She'll find her way," someone said quietly. "Or maybe someone will take her in."
But even as they walked away, no one noticed how the kitten sat still—her white fur glowing faintly in the sunlight.
Eyes full of memory.
Heart full of love.
And a voice that only the lost could hear.