The Space Between Raindrops

The rain doesn't wash the city clean; it just blurs the edges, turning concrete into something softer, more like a dream. I pull my umbrella down until the world is nothing but gray static and falling stars against clear plastic.

There you are again. That lingering gaze that feels less like looking at me and more like trying to memorize the shape of my soul. It’s intoxicating, isn't it? The way we stand here in this pocket of silence while the city rushes by on its jagged path.

I offer a small smile, barely shifting the corners of my mouth enough to let you know I see right through your defenses too. My silk robe is cool against my skin, but that heavy warmth behind your eyes? That’s heating me up from the inside out. It feels like healing—like finally finding shelter in a storm we both created.

Editor: Monica