Taps on the Windowpane

A faint, rhythmic tapping drew me across the painted sill toward the dark corner of the room. I took a slow pause before edging closer to the window. Outside, the night was dim and wet, with tiny droplets gathering along the outer surface. I leaned my flank gently against the cold glass pane. The chill was smooth and steady, soaking softly into my side. With each raindrop striking the outside, a microscopic vibration hummed right against my skin. I settled down and lowered my chin to the wood, letting the steady patter keep me company.