The rain stopped just as I reached the bus stop

I was halfway through a thought about how no one ever remembers the exact moment the rain ends — it’s always too late, or too early — when it just… stopped. The air smelled like wet concrete and old paper. I stood there for a second, not moving, because the silence after that kind of pause feels like something you’re not supposed to witness. My hands were still damp from the walk, but I didn’t mind. It wasn’t the weather I was waiting for. It was the stillness.