There was a lonely wooden bench under a tall tree in the corner of a quiet park.
No one sat there. No one even looked at it.
Except Ruru.
Ruru was a small grey cat with soft fur and big curious eyes.
He came to the bench every day, not to play, not to meet anyone—just to sit.
He liked the silence.
He believed that being alone was better than being hurt.
"I don't need anyone," he often whispered, watching leaves fall slowly from the tree.
The other cats laughed and played together nearby, chasing butterflies and sharing food.
But Ruru always stayed away.
He thought friendship was noisy. Messy. Dangerous.
Then came that cloudy afternoon.
The sky turned dark, and the wind became cold.
Without warning, the rain fell—fast and heavy.
Ruru tried to hide under the bench, but the wind blew through the trees, and he was soaked in seconds.
No one came to help.
No one noticed he was gone.
For the first time, in all his quiet days...
Ruru felt something sharp in his chest.
It wasn't the cold.
It was the truth.
"Being alone... doesn't feel so good anymore."