Taran always loved the rain, but today it felt different—softer, quieter, as if the clouds themselves were holding secrets just for her. She sat by her window, notebook in hand, tracing the paths of water droplets that slid lazily across the glass. Each droplet caught the dim light of the cloudy afternoon and seemed to glow, carrying stories she couldn’t yet understand. The rhythmic patter against the roof was comforting, yet it held a strange anticipation, like the sky was waiting for something.
Then, she heard it—a faint, trembling voice that seemed to rise from the very rain itself.
“Can you hear me?”
Taran froze. Her eyes darted across the empty room, her heartbeat quickening. “Who… who’s there?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the soft drizzle.
“I’ve been waiting for someone who listens,” the voice said, so soft it could have been the wind. It didn’t come from anywhere she could see, only from the droplets that tapped gently against the glass like tiny crystal messengers.
Curiosity overpowered fear. Taran leaned closer, letting her hand hover above the windowpane. “What do you want me to hear?” she asked, voice trembling with excitement.
The raindrops shivered, forming delicate shapes across the glass. Tiny scenes began to appear: a library floating among clouds, its books fluttering like birds; a garden where flowers whispered secrets of the stars; a river of liquid light that ran through a city of shadows and laughter. Each vision was more vivid than the last, each one a story that seemed to reach out directly to her heart. Taran’s pen moved on its own, capturing every fleeting image, every magical detail.
Time became meaningless. Hours passed in what felt like minutes. The rain sang to her, and she sang back with her sketches, translating the silent language of the storm into words and pictures. She didn’t notice the shadows stretching long across the floor or the soft chill settling in the room. She was lost in the world that the rain had opened, a secret place only she could enter.
Finally, the drizzle faded. The tiny scenes melted back into ordinary droplets. The voice softened, almost like a sigh, leaving one final message etched in mist across the window:
"The world is wider than your eyes see. Keep listening."
Taran traced the words with her finger, feeling a shiver of wonder run through her. She smiled, her heart racing with a mixture of awe and happiness. She had found a friend in the rain, a companion hidden in the ordinary, waiting to reveal the extraordinary.
From that day forward, every storm was no longer just rain. Each drop carried a whisper, a story, an invitation to see the world differently. Taran kept listening, drawing, and imagining, and with each rainfall, the magic of those hidden worlds grew closer, as if the universe itself had chosen her to hear its secrets.
Taran had discovered a rhythm that was to belonged to her alone—a secret symphony of rain and wonder that promised the extraordinary in the most ordinary of days.
