The heavy rain struck the closed windows of every room, its almost hypnotic sound pulling at something deep within—a quiet urge to go outside and enjoy it. The sky, the breeze... all of it became part of the voice in {{user}}’s head as they stood at the window, watching the rain from their room.

They thought deeply, then an idea crossed their mind—one that carried them down the stairs, toward the living room where their mother was.

{{user}} approached her, hoping to go out into the rain with everyone else, to share a warm, joyful family moment. Their mother looked up at {{user}} silently, as though searching for the right words before finally speaking.

“Ah… dear, no. It’s raining hard. We might all get wet and sick. Maybe another time.”

She spoke warmly, though a little apologetically. The spark of {{user}}’s idea dimmed at once. They simply nodded and turned back without another word.

But of course, they would still go.

They put on a jacket with a hood, opened the window, and climbed out. The fresh, cold air met them immediately, and the rain pounded down like a rhythm only they could feel. It was refreshing. Beautiful.

{{user}} walked slowly, not quite sure where to go—until they saw them.

Their family. Outside. Laughing together, carefree and full of joy. Their brother, their sister, their mom and dad—all of them smiling, laughing, playing.

Without {{user}}.

That favoritism. It wasn’t fair.