That night, the rain came like a curtain dropping. Lina lay awake, listening. And then she heard it: a soft tap-tap-tap on the windowpane, not from a branch. She pulled the blanket to her chin and turned.
Every year, just before the first big storm broke the summer’s back, Lina’s grandmother would pull the heavy clay pots inside and hang bundles of dried lemon leaves over every door. “They don’t like the bitter smoke,” she’d say. She never said who they were. rainy season creatures
All night, the rainy season creatures came. They didn't speak, but they left gifts: a forgotten button polished silver, a dried petal made soft again, a single note of a song her grandfather used to whistle. By dawn, they had slipped back into the gutters and down to the flooded fields. That night, the rain came like a curtain dropping
Here’s a draft story for Title: The Rainy Season Creatures She pulled the blanket to her chin and turned