Softness brushes the glass pane, steadily patting at the window with delicate plush soles, the kind that make intricate embroidery patterns on freshly fallen snow, but no sounds, no sounds at all, ever.

As if waiting for a sign, the clouds gathered over the horizon. Jal looked at them and allowed a second tear to fall. Deafening thunder shook the heavens, echoing between the old stone walls before it retreated in a low rumble. Another tear flowed down Jal’s cheek. That’s when the rain started.