Tiger In My Room _hot_ (TESTED)

Carefully, I sit down beside it. The tiger exhales. The room grows warmer.

I don’t know how it got in. My door was locked. The windows face a fifth-floor drop. But here it is, settled across my unmade bed, tail flicking lazily against the floorboards. My homework is under its left flank. I don’t care. tiger in my room

It blinks slowly. That’s what cats do when they trust you. Carefully, I sit down beside it

In the morning, it will be gone. No paw prints. No scratch marks. Just the faint smell of dust and sun, and a single orange hair on my pillow. I don’t know how it got in

The tiger turns its head. For a second, its gaze pins me—not with hunger, but with patience. As if it’s been waiting for me to stop running from something. As if it’s not the intruder. I am the one who forgot I belonged here, in this room, with this impossible animal.