Deni Budi S.

The rain always came early in Brighton. It painted the sidewalks silver, turned café windows into mirrors, and filled the air with the scent of salt and wet stone. Most people hurried through it with lowered heads and tired expressions. But not Lena Hart. Lena loved the rain. At twenty-six, she had mastered the art of appearing calm even when her mind felt like a crowded train station. She worked at a small independent bookstore called Moonlit Pages, a quiet little place hidden between a flower shop and a bakery near the old pier. Every morning she arrived before sunrise, unlocking the wooden door while the city still slept.