She stood in the
stairwell, dripping onto
the cracked tiles. The
rain had soaked through
her coat, and the smell
of wet wool clung to her
skin. Through the landing
window, she watched the
street below—a woman
struggling with a broken
umbrella, a man running
with a newspaper over his
head. No one looked up.
She checked her phone.
No messages. The building
hummed with distant
footsteps and muffled
doors. She leaned against
the railing, the metal
cold through her sleeve.
Her keys were in her
hand, but she didn't
move toward her door.
The rain drummed on the
glass, a steady pulse
that matched the hollow
ache in her chest.
She'd forgotten what it felt like to be dry.