Rain had a way of making the slums honest.
When the sky opened, even the dust stopped pretending to be soil. The alleys bled brown water, and the roofs sagged with the weight of it.
I was sweeping the stall when it started that morning. Mira didn't bother with the tarp this time; it had too many holes to matter.
"Keep the buckets full," she said, tucking her shawl tighter. "Rain's free. Might as well use it."
Her voice was tired. It always was lately.
Ren came out behind her, yawning like a prince, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He was two years older than me and carried himself like that was worth something. His hair was clean. His boots weren't.
"Why's he just standing there?" he asked, pointing at me. "The rain's not gonna sweep the floor for him."
Mira didn't answer. She never corrected him when he talked like that.
I bent down, scooping water into the first bucket. Cold seeped through my fingers, clean and cruel.
Ren kicked one of the buckets when I wasn't looking. It toppled over, spilling what I'd just collected.
"Oops," he said.
I didn't say anything. Words only made things worse.
"You deaf, street rat?"
Mira looked up from counting coins. "Ren."
He shrugged. "What? He's not even one of us."
The sound of the rain swallowed the silence that followed. Mira's lips pressed thin, but she didn't scold him.
"Go fetch more," she said to me instead.
So I did.
By afternoon, the road was a stream. I walked barefoot because the water filled my shoes faster than I could empty them. Every step made a sucking sound, like the mud wanted to keep me.
People were huddled under eaves, their eyes dull and waiting. The smell of wet bread, iron, and smoke clung to everything.
I filled the buckets again, slower this time, watching the ripples on the surface. For a moment, I thought I saw my reflection smile back at me. It wasn't a kind smile.
When I got back, Ren was sitting under the awning, tossing pebbles at a stray dog. Mira was arguing with a buyer, her voice sharp, her hands trembling slightly.
"Where've you been?" Ren snapped. "Took you long enough."
"Water's heavy," I said before I could stop myself.
He stood up and slapped me hard enough to make the bucket tilt. The water splashed over my knees.
"Don't talk back."
I caught Mira's eyes then, waiting for her to say something. Anything.
She didn't.
She just looked tired.
That night, the rain turned to mist. The air smelled of rust and smoke from damp fires. I couldn't sleep. The roof dripped onto my blanket in a steady rhythm.
Ren was snoring across the room. Mira was whispering to herself again numbers, always numbers.
I sat up and stared at my hands. The skin was red and cracked. I rubbed my palms together until they burned.
Sometimes I wondered if the rain could wash me away, piece by piece. Maybe that's what happened to my real mother. Maybe she just stood in a storm too long and dissolved.
The next morning, Ren had a new knife. It wasn't much just sharpened scrap but he held it like a treasure.
"Touch it and I'll cut you," he said.
"I wasn't going to."
"Doesn't matter. You think things belong to you just because Mom feeds you."
"She doesn't feed me," I said, but it came out softer than I meant.
He grinned. "Exactly."
Later, he cornered me behind the shed and pressed the knife against my throat not hard, just enough to feel the edge. His breath smelled of sour bread.
"You'll never be one of us," he whispered. "You're just a mouth Mom hasn't sold yet."
Then he laughed and left me there.
I stayed still for a long time after, rain dripping down from the roof, tracing cold lines across my neck.
That evening, Mira gave Ren the last piece of bread. She didn't notice I hadn't eaten. Or maybe she did and decided it wasn't worth the trouble.
I didn't feel angry. Just empty, like a bucket turned upside down.
When everyone slept, I went outside. The rain had stopped, but the ground still shone under the lamps. I walked barefoot to the wall.
It was darker tonight, almost invisible against the sky. I touched it, fingers sliding over the cold stone.
"I won't stay here forever," I whispered.
The wall didn't answer, but the wind shifted. It carried the faintest echo of laughter someone's, somewhere far above.
Maybe it was just the city breathing. Maybe it was something else.
Either way, it made me smile for the first time in days.
---
When I went back inside, Ren was awake. His eyes caught the lamplight sharp, suspicious.
"Where were you?"
"Outside."
"You planning to run?"
I shook my head.
He smirked. "Good. Wouldn't want you to die before Mom gets something out of you."
I didn't respond. I just lay down, staring at the ceiling until the wood blurred into gray.
I could still hear the rain, even though it wasn't falling anymore. Maybe it lived inside me now the sound of everything that never stopped, even when it should.