Raini stomps through puddles in his yellow boots. Splash! Water flies everywhere.
He grins and grabs his tin cup from the windowsill.
Inside, the roof starts to drip. Plink. Plink. Plink.
Raini places his cup under the biggest drip, then sets two more cups beside it.
A raindrop lands on Raini's nose. Plop. He freezes, eyes wide.
Then he giggles and tips his head back, trying to catch another — this time it bounces off his ear with a soft boop.
Raini fills his cup to the brim and runs to his mother's cot. 'Mama, taste the rain,' he says, holding it to her lips.
She takes a sip, and the corners of her mouth turn up. Outside, the rain drums on the tin roof like a thousand tiny hands clapping.
Raini sits beside her on the cot, their cups between them.
The roof still plinks and plonks, but now it sounds like a song. He rests his head against her arm, and the house doesn't feel leaky at all.