The classroom, which had no chairs or tables, was finally quiet. A twin bed was stationed in the middle, for the caretaker of the dogs surrounding it. I never understood why was it was called a "twin" bed up until the day I saw my boyfriend and his friend share it. They were both staying overnight at the classroom-turned-veterinary rest hall to keep an eye on our beloved furry friends of the campus. All our beloveds were being neutered and vaccinated. We were happy that it was finally happening, for each one of them deserves a happy and troublesome-free life, but we were dead tired. Borderline depressed even. The cries, the howls, the visible confusion on their faces when John (because he is our very own John Wick); their most trusted one, held them tight as some stranger approached them with a sharp, piercing object, was altogether leaving a dreadful impact on us. John especially. He would not eat properly. Nor was he able to have a goodnight's sleep in his comfortable hostel bed. I do not think I would have slept peacefully if it were not for him and my boyfriend sacrificing their sleep.

"So you do not believe in God but believe in the Illuminati?" I found the big triangle with an eye in the centre at the back of his T-shirt amusing.

He chuckled.

I was not going to let him be and he knew it. He enjoyed our little banter and I knew it.

I watched him, the staunch atheist stroking the freshly renamed 'Imly' (credits to Gangu and me), formerly called 'Tumour Mommy' (because she was a mother who developed a tumour around her vulva), with his tired hands. His weakest pets seemed to give the operated dog a lot of comfort. In an instant, all my previous conversations with him screened in front of my mind's eye.

"Why would God want us to suffer?"