The Glass Corner

Back then, the terrarium sat on a low wooden table beside the window, half-covered with a dark cloth to keep the light from stressing him. Nimbus had always been calm—never hissed, never struck. Even the vet had commented on his temperament during the first checkup.

What Mia remembered most, though, was how he would follow movement but with recognition. Whenever she sat in that chair, he would shift toward the front-left corner of the tank. Sometimes he pressed his snout lightly against the glass, always in that same spot, facing her. She used to joke that he liked the sound of her voice.