It rained hard yesterday. The kind of rain that doesn’t whisper—it shouts. Drops hammered rooftops, drowned out conversations, and turned streets into shallow rivers.
I sat by the window with a cup of tea, watching the world blur behind sheets of water. There was something comforting in the chaos—the rhythm of falling rain, the gray sky, the way time seemed to slow down just for a while.
When it finally stopped, the air smelled clean, like earth and possibility. Puddles shimmered under a reluctant sun, and everything felt quieter, as if the storm had washed more than just dust away.