The Sound of the Rain at 3 AM

Dear Delyara, I’m sitting by the window in the dark. The streetlights are reflecting off the wet pavement, turning the road into a shimmering black river. I can hear the rhythm of the rain hitting the bins outside—a steady, metallic heartbeat. Everyone in the house is fast asleep, their breathing heavy and rhythmic, but I feel like I’m the only person left in the world. There’s a strange comfort in the cold glass against my forehead. For a few minutes, I don't have to be a provider, a worker, or a friend. I am just a witness to the night.