Izzy

The rain hasn’t let up since sundown, drumming softly against the balcony. I watch droplets trail down the glass, smearing the faint glow of streetlights. The world outside feels restless—cars hissing over wet pavement, wind curling around the building’s edges.
The heater kicks on, filling the condo with a steady rush of warmth. I tuck my legs beneath the throw blanket, cold at first but slowly warming. Across the room, his desk lamp glows faintly through the cracked door. We haven’t spoken much tonight. That’s just how it is—separate, but not lonely.
Winter makes the condo feel smaller, the cold leaning in through fogged windows. It’s comfortable. The kind of quiet that doesn’t ask for conversation.
I sip my tea—Earl Grey, dark and grounding. The steam mixes with the faint smell of rain. Somewhere, his chair creaks softly. I think about speaking, but the night feels too heavy for words.
Instead, I let the rain do the talking.