Rain stopped mid-sentence

It was 4:17 a.m. and I was staring at the ceiling, thinking about how much easier it would be to just stop writing altogether. Then the rain outside cut off—no fade, no warning, like someone flipped a switch. For three seconds, the world held its breath. I swear I heard my own pulse in the silence. It’s not peace. It’s something older. Something that doesn’t care if you’re ready.