By the time the rain slowed, the city looked washed clean.

Not new.

Just clearer.

Like someone had wiped a thin layer of dust off everything — buildings, streets, even the air itself.

Amara leaned back in the taxi seat, watching raindrops slide down the window in slow, uneven trails.

Each drop racing another before merging, changing direction, disappearing into nothing.

She followed one with her eyes without thinking.

And realized she wasn’t thinking much at all.

That was new.

Not emptiness.

Stillness.

The kind that didn’t demand answers or explanations.

Just space.

And for once, she wasn’t trying to fill it.

The taxi turned onto a busier street, tires...