Charlotte's confidence wavered. "Come on, with my skills? The clients I work for are never satisfied. Nobody's going to like my doodles."
But he didn't agree. "I like them very much."
Charlotte removed the note from the fridge and slowly rubbed the paper's edge, her expression shifting from hesitation to determination.
"Then I'll give it a try," she said softly to the little house-shaped magnet, with a touch of shyness and considerably more hope and gratitude. "Thank you, stranger-next-door."
---
From then on, Charlotte began posting her Boss Cat Overlord strips on her social media. Given her work schedule, updates were irregular—three days on, two days off—and the comics ranged from full story arcs to quick sketches. But slowly, she gathered a small but loyal following that left comments, marveled at how cute Boss was, and praised her drawing.
---
Those moments of free expression and scattered praise were a small gift that made Charlotte's life feel less consumed by dreary work, allowing her to breathe a little.
They also deepened her gratitude toward Boss, and toward the young man who kept Boss fed.
A mere verbal thanks felt too flimsy, so with the New Year approaching, Charlotte decided on a more substantial gift. She found a friend who made anime merchandise and paid out of her own pocket for a custom set of Boss-themed fridge magnets, cramming them into a clean box on New Year's Eve and placing it in the young man's designated shelf in the fridge.
"The original house magnet is nice, but it's barely magnetic anymore—always sliding down. This new set is a New Year's gift for you and Boss," Charlotte wrote on a sticky note, sticking it on the fridge door with a flourish. "One-of-a-kind, limited edition."
---
His return gift appeared on the second day of the New Year.
Also placed in the fridge, in a bento box, on Charlotte's shelf. When she opened it, she found fresh potstickers—each one plump and golden, their bottoms crisply fried, tops pleated in neat little folds and sprinkled with sesame seeds. Even refrigerated, their mouthwatering appeal could not be concealed.
The note read: "I got pulled into an urgent project and had to work through the holidays, only came back last night to rest. The new fridge magnets are beautiful, thank you very much. These potstickers are homemade—a return gift. Hope you like them, and Happy New Year."
The note itself was held to the fridge by one of the new Boss-shaped magnets.
"Oh my god, this is the best gift ever," Charlotte nearly did a backflip, hugging the bento box. While heating the potstickers in the microwave, she couldn't resist dangling the new magnet in front of Boss as he strolled past. "Boss, look, look—doesn't this look just like you?"
Boss, who had seen it all, was thoroughly unimpressed. He cast a perfunctory glance at the magnet and the foolish girl holding it, let out a cool meow, and swaggered away.
Not interested in spending another second near this idiot human.
---
But when Charlotte opened the microwave, the aroma wafting out made Boss abandon his pride. He spun around and trotted back, pawing at her leg with demanding meows.
After all, those freshly reheated potstickers smelled incredible.
"Hey, Boss, want a taste?" Charlotte grabbed one plump potsticker, crouched down, and waved it in front of him—then popped it into her own mouth just as he lunged. "Sorry, can't share! Every single one is mine! Ahahaha!"
Boss icily condemned her with a glare.
And was gratified to see the greedy girl desperately fanning her scalding mouth: "Owww, so hot!"
Serves her right, the stingy idiot.
---
Later, Charlotte left a note asking how the young man found time to cook when he was so busy.
"I really admire your discipline in maintaining a healthy routine," she wrote, entirely sincerely. "When I'm busy, I just order takeout—no energy for cooking."
His reply: "It's the same principle as you doodling comics during work—when the job squeezes me too tight, I relax by cooking. I think it's because cooking is a form of creation where I can actually control the outcome. I like that feeling."
"Ah, so you're another creative type being bossed around by clients, no wonder you're always working overtime too." Charlotte stood in front of the fridge, holding the note and grinning like an idiot, feeling an unexpected kinship.
Even though they still hadn't met in person.
But sharing work frustrations and a love of aesthetics and cats made it easy to chat freely via sticky notes on the fridge door.
It was a curious feeling.
Living under the same roof, never meeting face to face; never meeting face to face, yet always able to talk effortlessly.
Something that should have been impossible—a wall between them—had actually happened, and Charlotte found herself surprisingly delighted by this coincidence. She also maintained the delicate balance carefully, never asking for his phone number or other contact information, even after so many exchanges of notes.
He extended her the same courtesy.
Two strangers separated by a single wall, connected through the magic of fridge magnets, maintaining communication through countless near-misses—never once interrupted.
And the fridge itself, the device that had brought them together, now held special meaning for Charlotte.
It was no longer just a dump for her junk food. It had become a treasure chest of surprises—each day's new sticky note, every occasional treat left in the fridge for her, all carrying her eager anticipation, without exception.
---
Until, as winter was drawing to a close, Charlotte returned from visiting her parents in the south for Spring Festival, stuffed the fridge with hometown specialties, and added a note: "This sausage is homemade by my mom—you should try it, it's amazing."
Then she paused, pen hovering. After a long hesitation, she continued: "I heard there's an art exhibition opening nearby next weekend. Would you want to go together?"
The time and venue were written in tiny characters.
As if the person writing them didn't dare speak aloud, only seeking an answer with the gentlest possible voice.
The reason Charlotte finally decided to break their established pattern had everything to do with this trip home.
Amid the raucous festivities and table after table of delicious food, she—the foodie who should have been happiest of all—kept finding her mind wandering, thinking that something was missing.
Then she figured it out.
She missed the Boss-shaped magnet on the fridge door. She missed the sticky notes stuck beneath it. And she missed… the young man she'd never met.
Without realizing it, she'd grown accustomed to posting every new thing she encountered on the fridge door. She had a pile of Boss comics saved up over the holidays, waiting for someone who could appreciate them.
But she didn't have his contact information. She couldn't even send a simple New Year's greeting.
In that forced silence, Charlotte knew with absolute certainty: she really missed him.
And she really wanted to meet him.
---
The young man's response did not disappoint.
He agreed readily and even booked tickets online in advance, sticking them to the fridge with a Boss magnet and a brief note: "See you then."
Charlotte pulled the tickets from the fridge, threw her head back, and laughed three times, startling even the unflappable Boss.
Frankly, Boss found Charlotte's inability to maintain composure utterly beneath his notice. Her hopping around yelling "See you then!" to the air was clearly deranged behavior.
Stupid human. Boss stalked off with his head held high—best to keep some distance from the idiot, lest it be contagious.
---
Unfortunately, life's script doesn't always follow your plans.
Before Charlotte could even decide what to wear, a note of apology appeared on the fridge.
"I'm really sorry—I got pulled into an urgent bid project at work and have to go out of town this weekend to survey the site." His handwriting, normally so neat, was slightly rushed. "I'll make it up to you next time. Also, could you look after Boss for a couple of days? Thank you."
Charlotte took down the note with a small sigh.
Looking after Boss wasn't a problem—he was a mature, self-sufficient cat, requiring very little from her.
And she wasn't at all angry about him canceling. As a fellow creative professional subjected to the whims of clients, she understood all too well the feeling of being swept along by forces beyond your control.
It was just… a tiny, tiny bit of disappointment.
"No worries, it's totally fine." Charlotte quickly perked up, scooping up Boss—who happened to be wandering past—and inhaling deeply of his fur. Under his world-weary gaze, she felt revitalized. "Rain check it is. Good things come to those who wait."
---
But this particular wait turned into an indefinite one.
The young man's return was further delayed—his company had moved the entire project team into a nearby hotel for three weeks of round-the-clock bidding. He only came back once, briefly, to grab clean clothes, and of course Charlotte was at the studio working, so they missed each other yet again.
Reading his earnest apology and request for continued Boss-sitting on the fridge, Charlotte felt a surge of sympathy for the poor soul, squatted down, ruffled Boss's fluffy head, and joked: "Boss, look at you—your human's been practically kidnapped by his company! Can't even escape until he finishes the work. How pitiful."
Boss wrestled free of her clutches and, before leaving, cast a haughty meow over his shoulder, as if declaring: "I am the master here. He merely scoops my litter!"
"Okay, okay, apologies for overstepping." Charlotte gave a solemn bow of acknowledgment, then squatted there, imagining a Cat Overlord spin-off where, having lost his scooper to corporate imprisonment, Boss must wander the martial arts world without his accustomed status, and cracking herself up with her own joke. After a while she rubbed her aching thighs, stood up, and went to the living room to give Boss a formal work handover.
"Boss, although your Chief Scooper does excellent work, for the next few days, I'll be filling in for him."
---
This was Charlotte's first time entering the young man's room.
She'd been asked to come in and take care of Boss, but still felt a flutter of guilt when opening the door, as if she were intruding.
So she opened and closed it as quietly as possible, like a guilty burglar.
"Get a grip, it's not like I'm sneaking in—I was explicitly invited." Charlotte steadied herself and looked around.
The first impression: clean, minimalist, fresh, reliable.
Like a mountain breeze sweeping through a pine forest, leaving behind a clarity and calm.
"Geesh, how does he keep it this tidy? Not a single cat hair or off-odor." Charlotte muttered in admiration.
Then she realized that openly gawping at someone else's room was probably rude, so she quickly located the litter box in the corner, cleaned it, and replaced the sand. Feeding and watering were already second nature—she'd been managing the dispensers in the living room for a while now.
"Boss, you lucky thing," Charlotte said as she worked. "Two such devoted fools at your service."