Years ago I had a boyfriend who adopted two rescue cats; a large male adult and a little female kitten. The kitten was pretty much feral but gradually became tamer with lots of gentle encouragement. She was far from being a lap cat, but enjoyed playing with string and would allow the odd stroke, warily.
Shortly after I split up from boyfriend he called me to say he was moving in with a new girlfriend who had budgies, so he needed to rehome the cats 
. He was hoping I’d take them, which I couldn’t, sadly, as pets weren’t allowed where I lived. I did find a new home for them though, with a lovely lady; friend of a friend of a friend.
I went to visit them some weeks later, and their new owner said that although the boy had settled in, the little female was hiding under the spare bed, only coming out at night. Amazingly, as soon as I walked in that room and called her name, she started meowing and came running to me, purring and head rubbing in a display of affection she had never ever honoured me or anyone with before. It was both lovely and heartbreaking at the same time, because it meant she was missing me, but I couldn’t take her back with me.
But, happily, something about my visit gave her confidence, and her new owner emailed me later to say that that very evening she had come out of the room to eat with boy cat, and a few days later when new owner was off work sick, in bed, the little cat had jumped up onto the bed and sat on her and purred. She became a very affectionate and happy little cat.