“Learning to Love the Rain”

I had plans to meet a friend for coffee, walk a bit, maybe buy some fresh bread. Then the sky darkened, and suddenly — rain. Not a drizzle, but a proper, steady shower. At first, I sighed. Then I smiled. I grabbed my umbrella and stepped out. The streets looked different — cleaner, quieter, somehow softer.

Instead of rushing, I slowed. Listened to the rain tapping on leaves, on rooftops, on my umbrella. I watched people scatter, some laughing, some hurrying. I stopped by a café window, watching steam curl from cups inside. The rain made the world pause, like a breath between busy moments.

By the time I got home, soaked but smiling, I realized the rain had done something quiet: it made me notice. The smell of wet earth, the shine on the pavement, the way colors deepened. I made myself a hot cup of tea and watched droplets race down the windowpane. Not bad at all — maybe even good.