Days passed. Then weeks.
Kia began caring for the kitten when Grandma went to work in the farm fields. Slowly, the blind girl had learned every corner of the house, and she found comfort sitting beside the kitten's box.
"Why doesn't she move like I do?" Kia often asked.
Grandma watched with concern. Kia had become deeply attached to the tiny creature, spending most of her day next to it. She thought perhaps it was time to give the kitten a name.
From a drawer, Grandma took out a small pendant—a gift from her own childhood. It was too small for her to wear now, but it would be perfect for the kitten.
She called to Kia, "Kia, don't you think it's time we gave the kitten a name?"
Kia's face lit up. "Yes, Grandma! But… what should we call her?"
"What name do you like, baby?"
Kia thought hard, her tiny brow furrowed in concentration. "Ummmm… I don't know."
"suggest me one?"
"Me?"
"Yes, you."
"Ummm… she's small, like you. What about… Mini?"
"Mini," Kia repeated. "That's such a cute name."
She gently tied a soft ribbon around the kitten's neck, the small pendant hanging from it.Grandma Write on it in delicate letters the name: Mini.
As soon as Grandma tied the ribbon, the kitten moved. Just a little. Then again.
It was slow. Almost unnoticeable.
But it was something.
Grandma paused, staring at her, a strange feeling washing over her.
Something about this kitten was different.
She couldn't explain it.
But she chose, for now, to simply let it be.
Everything was going well. Life had fallen into a peaceful rhythm.
Each morning, Grandma would go to the farm for work, and little Kia stayed home with Mini, her beloved kitten. Despite her blindness, Kia had memorized every step of the house. She knew exactly where the milk was kept, how to warm it, and how to hold Mini gently in her lap.
But one morning, the unexpected happened.
Grandma left as usual, reminding Kia to be careful. Kia, eager to feed Mini, poured milk into a pot and turned on the gas stove. But in her excitement and inexperience, she forgot to light it—and more importantly, forgot to turn it off.
The kitchen window was left open, and as wind began to blow in, the room filled with gas. Within moments, a spark—maybe from the stove, maybe from something else—ignited it.
A sudden blast of fire erupted.
In seconds, the flames spread, dancing across the wooden walls and old curtains like angry spirits. Smoke filled the air. The quiet home turned into a burning nightmare.
Kia smelled something strange—sharp, acrid, terrifying. But she couldn't see what was happening.
"Something's wrong… Mini?" she whispered, trembling. Her heart pounded. She could feel the heat building around her, and the air getting thicker, heavier.
Panicking, she grabbed Mini in her arms, held her tight against her chest, and crawled into a corner.
"Grandma… I don't know what's happening… it's hot… so hot…" she cried, her voice cracking.
"Mom… Dad… can you see me? Can you help me and Mini?"
The smoke grew thicker, black and choking. Her breathing became shallow.
"Grandma… I love you… please… help me…"
And then—
Silence.
Darkness.
The fire rose high into the sky. People from the village gathered, shouting, pouring water, trying desperately to control the blaze. But the flames refused to listen.
By the time the fire calmed, the house was nothing but ashes and broken wood.
When someone ran to the fields to tell Grandma, her heart stopped for a moment. The sick feeling in her stomach twisted violently.
She dropped everything and ran—faster than her tired legs had moved in years.
But when she reached her home, it was too late.
Everything was gone.
Burnt.
Collapsed.
"No… no…" she whispered, staring at the ruins.
Then she screamed. A sound full of grief, pain, and helplessness.
"Kia! Baby! Where are you? Don't scare me like this—come out now!"
She rushed into the rubble, ignoring the smoke still rising from the remains. Her eyes searched for any sign of Kia. And then she saw something—a piece of cloth—Kia's dress from that morning.
"No… no, no, please no…" she said, picking it up with trembling hands.
Under the cloth, she found Mini.
The kitten was alive—but barely. Unconscious, burned slightly, weak.
Grandma stared at her in shock, hoping, praying that Kia was close by.
But there was nothing.
No voice.
No sign.
No Kia.
She held the kitten close and screamed into the emptiness.