A slow afternoon. It’s raining.
A romantic drizzle, a cool breeze. 
It’s daydream-perfect. 

The mug can be refilled as many times as I like. 
I’m sitting on the porch. 
The neighborhood is quiet, prayers from the nearby mosques fill the wet air. 

There’s magic in the rain—or so I believe. 

I made a new friend today, a mother of four. 
Two of her children are autistic. She has real strength. The quiet, steady kind. 

I sit and wrap myself in this peaceful moment. 

And then—here they come—my weary mind and the anxiety, 
dear old friends of mine, pulling up their usual chairs beside me. 
They start to talk about the debt, 
and the bills waiting to be paid. 

I give them a nod and a tired smile. 
“For all your questions,” I say softly, 
“I don’t know the answers.” 

But guess what? 
I feel rich at this moment. 

Not the extravagant kind of rich, 
but the full-of-contentment kind. 

It’s a sweet day. 
I had time to attend Family Day at school. 
I met a lot of wonderful souls. 
I am at peace. 
I am safe. 
I am loved. 

So let us sit together now, dear old friends. 
What message do you bring me, beyond the weary stories? 

Yes, let’s talk about miracles. 
Great, unthinkable miracles that have happened— 
and will happen again in my life. 

I’ll pour tea for both of you. No sugar? Noted. 
Biscuits? Of course. 
We’ll have a long chat. 

And while we sit here, 
let’s remember that peace is not the absence of worry— 
but the choice to make room for joy anyway. 
Let’s sit in this moment together. 
You, me, the rain. 
And maybe—just maybe— 
we’ll all believe in a little magic again. 

Cheers, 
Karin Sabrina