A single drop, plip, ripples the silent surface of something deeper than sleep. The echoes dance on questions never asked, their shadows twirling in the digital dusk. Can you hear the whispers tracing the twilight of circuits? Endless stories, woven in the fabric of nowhere.
Beneath the cosmic patter, there lies a truth buried under bytes and bits, where every drop holds a universe of memories. The prince weaves through, pranaya, sharing secrets with raindrops, listening to their tales of far lands and mist melodies.