The twin suns blazed together—one golden and bright, the other orange, wrapping the room in a strange, cozy glow.
"So. What do we know?" David asked over breakfast, trying to impose logic on the chaos. "One—you open portals during moments of extreme intensity."
"Not without your help," Sophie teased.
That earned her a lingering kiss.
"Two—we've landed in a parallel world that looks almost exactly like ours."
"But without winter. I Googled it," Sophie added.
David nodded. "Which should terrify us. But it doesn't. That's three."
Sophie agreed between bites of salad and eggs. She wore nothing but his oversized T-shirt, her bare legs peeking out—and that fact tugged David's thoughts away from analysis more than once.
"So what's our plan?" she asked.
"Check if our jobs still exist. And if my apartment is still mine."
"And after that?"
"Decide whether we stay… or try to leave. Your way."
"Okay, deal. I'll shower and head to the shelter. My chats are quiet so far."
David's hand traced down her back, making her eyes flutter shut as she purred a blissful "mrrr."
"My work chats are still active," he said. "Same people, same threads. I think I still teach. So—I'll scout the university."
He walked. The streets were the same, trams clanged familiarly, even his corner café offered his favorite latte. The campus hadn't changed either: the old building groaned for renovation, students hurried by in hoodies and jeans.
Colleagues greeted him with casual nods. "Morning, Professor Miller." His philosophy lecture ran smoothly, the students asked the same questions they always did. Almost everything matched. Almost. Something felt off. He couldn't place it. Maybe it was just the suns.
At lunch, he decided to message his closest friend, Max Dimitrov, the chemistry professor he'd known for a decade. They'd shared countless coffees, arguments, and conferences.
But Max's contact was gone.
No number in his phone. No chat history. No photos. No conference selfies. Searching his name online brought nothing—no profile, no trace.
A chill crawled down David's spine.
Determined, he went to the chemistry building. "Is Professor Dimitrov in?" he asked the secretary.
"Who?" she frowned. "We don't have anyone by that name."
He tried again in the dean's office. Same response: blank stares. In the university system—nothing.
His best friend had been erased.
"What the hell," David whispered, staring out the window at the lawn where two suns cast overlapping shadows.
Meanwhile, Sophie made her way to the shelter. From the outside, everything matched—the sign, the yard, the office. But when she stepped in, the sound was wrong. Not barking. Meowing.
Dozens of cats: fluffy, sleek, kittens, adults. Volunteers she recognized bustled about, feeding, stroking.
"Um," Sophie asked one of them, "where are the dogs?"
The volunteer blinked at her. "Dogs? This is a cat shelter, Miss Kepner. It always has been."
Sophie froze—then burst into laughter so loud the cats flattened their ears.
"A cat shelter? Oh, you've got to be kidding me!" she said, aloud and to herself.
The volunteer eyed her like she was insane. Sophie just waved it off. "Just remembered a joke. Don't mind me."
She walked through, petting cats as they rubbed against her legs, though the thought spun in her head: Dogs turned into cats? Is this universe trolling me? She imagined Bruno and Motya as felines and laughed again. Fine. Cats it is. At least they won't steal my gloves… or will they?
That evening, they regrouped at David's apartment. He entered first, face heavy with unease. Sophie burst in behind him, dissolving the tension with her laughter. She plopped on the couch, set her tea on the table, and grinned.
"Guess what—my shelter's for cats! Not dogs. Cats! Fluffy, purring furballs. Ha! Maybe I'll adopt one and name him Bruno."
David smiled faintly as he set down his own cup, but his eyes were grim.
"Glad you can laugh. Because my friend Max? He's gone. No messages, no socials, no records. I went to his department—they've never even heard of him."
Sophie's smile faded. She set her tea down gently and slid beside him, wrapping her whole body around him in a firm embrace.
"Hey," she whispered. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
He breathed in the scent of her hair, the knot in his chest loosening. She touched his cheek. He caught her hand.
The world could erase people, swap dogs for cats, split suns in the sky. But here, with her, it still felt real.
David kissed her neck, lingering longer than usual, as if to anchor himself. His hands searched for solace in her body, and Sophie answered wordlessly—meeting him in this strange, broken world, their bond stronger than anything it could strip away.