She sat by her window looking out at the ongoing storm. The rain was beating down in sheets and would occasionally beat into her window whenever the wind changed. With a hot cup of coffee warming her hands and a book by her side she never felt alone. The smell of petrichor intermingled with coffee and the coolness of the wind blew in her hair.
It has been the second day of non-stop rain. She watched as her neighbours went about their business as usual. She heard the children return from school one by one. The distinct chatter and laughter as they played in the puddles on their way home. There is something about the monsoon that evokes the creativity in her. Something about the rain that calms her down as she watches the drops roll down her window grill. Something about the wind that takes her to another place when she closes her eyes.
She watched as the tiny bubbles formed on the surface of the puddles. The force of the water rushing down the pavement outside her window. She thought about the stories her mother told her about the rain when she was a child. About the fairies and goblins who celebrate during the storm. How the tiny little bubbles used to house them and take them from place to place.
The monsoons always bring about that nostalgic feeling that no other season can ever evoke in her. The monsoon, the calm and chaos that it brings will always hold a special place in her heart.