Eli, a curious boy with tousled hair and wide, wondering eyes, splashes through the growing pools, his boots sending ripples across the surface. In the hush before the downpour, he pauses, kneeling by a large puddle at the edge of the park. The air is tinged with petrichor, the scent of new rain rising from warm earth.

He notices something strange—each raindrop that lands seems to leave behind a tiny, shimmering symbol. As more drops fall, the symbols multiply, arranging themselves into neat lines and curves, like the notes on a sheet of music. Eli blinks, rubbing his eyes in disbelief, but the notes only grow clearer, pulsing softly with each new drop.

Eli pulls a crumpled notebook from his backpack, sketching the patterns as quickly as he can. "What could it mean?" he murmurs, his pencil racing to capture the fleeting symbols. The wind carries the faintest strains of melody, as if the storm itself is singing through the notes.

Eli moves his finger above the surface, tracing the sequence of notes. With each gesture, the music grows louder in his mind—a grand symphony, strings soaring, drums pounding, a chorus rising and falling with the storm’s fury. "It's a song—written by the rain," he whispers, awe in his voice.

He raises his hands, and the music swells—a tapestry of sound and water, chaos and harmony. The storm seems to answer, lightning crackling in time with the rhythm, the wind howling in a wild refrain. "I can hear it all," he laughs, spinning with joy, lost in the storm’s embrace.

Eli stands alone, notebook clutched to his chest, the memory of the storm symphony echoing in his heart. The sun glints off the lingering water, and for a moment, he swears he hears a final chord—a secret melody, gifted by the rain. Smiling, he turns for home, the music lingering in his soul, waiting for the next storm to begin again.