The silence after the rain stops

It’s 2:15 and the sky just exhaled. The rain had been droning for hours—just enough to make you forget what stillness sounds like. Now, on the fire escape, I can hear the drip from the gutter, the far-off hum of a fridge in someone’s kitchen, and the way the pavement breathes. I keep waiting for the world to resume, but it doesn’t. It just… settles. Like it’s remembering how to be quiet.