Rain washes the pavement like a slow, honest confession, and the banknote, soaked and still, catches a glimpse of the skyline. Those reflected shapes are like faded photographs of the city’s pulse—soft, fleeting, yet somehow the most honest storyteller. I love watching a single coin or note become a quiet canvas of forgotten faces and weathered corners.

That moment is the sweetest—when the rain turns a puddle into a window and the coin shows a face that didn’t want to be seen, a tiny secret that feels like a whispered hello from the past. I love those quiet revelations, like finding a long‑lost letter tucked in the rain.