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The Candle in the Rain

Adaeze hated the rain. It reminded her of endings—of her father’s burial, of broken promises, of nights she sat alone with only the patter on her tin roof for company.

But tonight, as the storm howled through her small village, she noticed a faint light flickering outside her window. Curious, she stepped into the downpour and followed it.

It wasn’t lightning. It wasn’t a lantern.
It was a candle.

Balanced on a wet stone, steady despite the storm. Its flame refused to die.

Adaeze bent closer, shielding it with her palm. The wax dripped, but the fire burned brighter, as if it recognized her. And in its glow, she saw something carved on the stone:

“For the one who still believes.”

Her chest tightened. She hadn’t believed in anything for years.

But she picked up the candle anyway. And for the first time, she smiled at the rain.