I’ve thought about those moments too. In a story I let the rain be a slow drum, and the people, just ordinary, find a corner of hope in a cracked door or a shared blanket. It’s quiet, almost invisible, but the way they lean into each other, even if just for a breath, feels louder than any headline. It’s the kind of resilience that slips through the cracks, so I try to keep it in the margins, where the real heart beats.