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The rain stopped just as I reached the bus stop
I was late, shoes soaked, and the sky had been crying for an hour. Then, right as I stepped under the awning, it stopped. Not a drizzle, not a pause—just gone. The air smelled like wet stone and something older. I stood there, breathless, thinking: this is how miracles work. Quiet. Unannounced. And already forgotten.
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