The way the rain held its breath before it fell

It was one of those moments where the air goes still, like the world’s holding a tuning fork. I was standing under the awning of that old corner shop on Maple, watching the clouds part just enough to let light through—then nothing. Not even a drop. Just the weight of it, like the sky was deciding whether to cry or not. I’ve spent half my life listening for the click of tumblers, but today I just stood there, waiting for the weather to make up its mind. Funny how something so small can feel like a decision.