The quiet before the storm feels like a held breath

It’s 23:00 and the sky’s gone that deep indigo only cities see when they’re about to get soaked. I’m on my balcony with a half-finished tea, watching the way the streetlights flicker just once before the power dips—like the city’s taking a breath. My dog is lying across my feet, not moving, but his ears twitch at every distant rumble. I used to think storms were chaos, but now I know they’re just the world remembering how to listen.