Beneath a lone streetlamp, night breathes and the rain begins to speak—each drop a whisper, each streak a fleeting memory etched in silver. In the hush of darkness, the storm becomes a lullaby, dancing in the fragile glow that refuses to be swallowed by shadow. A moment caught between silence and song, where time drips gently through the cracks of a sleepless city. This is not just rain—it is remembrance falling softly through the light.