The morning light filtered through the heavy, rain-laden clouds, casting a muted glow across the room where Alicia sat. She absently stirred her tea, her gaze fixed on the droplets of rain that raced each other down the glass of the window. The relentless patter of the rain had been her lullaby the night before, and now it continued, casting a gloomy pall over the day. The garden outside, usually vibrant and full of life, now looked sodden and forlorn, the flowers bowed under the weight of the incessant downpour.
As she watched the rain, a memory from her childhood surfaced, vivid and comforting in its simplicity. She could see her younger self, no more than six or seven, standing in front of a similar window in their modest two-story house. The memory was so clear she could almost feel the soft, worn fabric of her favorite dress and smell the familiar scent of her mother's perfume mingled with the fresh rain.
