But even though the man in front of him was Kafka—unmistakably him—there were differences so drastic that for a split second he almost wondered if he was hallucinating.
Well, for one...the other Kafka was plump.
Not a little plump but properly, pleasantly round.
He had a soft belly that noticeably pushed against the buttons of his formal shirt, like he'd had one too many late-night dinners after overtime.
His cheeks were chubby enough to give him a gentle, almost adorable softness. His arms were thick, not with muscle, but with the kind of comfortable weight someone gained after settling into a stable office job with good snacks and too little free time.
His hair was cut short—neat, clean, professional—and the outfit he wore screamed 'corporate employee' right down to the tucked-in shirt, ID card on a lanyard, and stiff black trousers.
Honestly, he looked like a dad.
A slightly overworked, well-fed, desperately-in-need-of-a-vacation dad.
