Between umbrellas and damp jackets — hurried footsteps, muffled voices, faces half obscured in the mist of the rain. On the corner, people gather under a shelter, hands buried in pockets, eyes wandering over the wet pavement. A woman laughs softly, her breath forming delicate clouds, while her child in bright rubber boots jumps eagerly into a puddle. The rain sounds like a gentle whisper, uniting the city in a brief, shared rhythm — as if each person is connected along an invisible path, momentarily held by the cadence of the drops, before they disperse once more, each on their own way.