It didn't look like it was going to rain. The clouds were still there, but they no longer looked like clouds.

They had become prisms, blocks, perfect suspended volumes. Elegant. Precise. Strangely artificial.

Years earlier, humanity had transferred almost its entire existence to "the cloud": memories, photographs, conversations, desires, work, affection.

Little by little, we stopped looking at the real sky while constructing another invisible one made from data and calculations.

Then the sky changed. Organic forms disappeared. Chance began to look like a system error.

Until one day, an anomaly appeared: an imperfect cloud. Soft. Unstable. Constantly changing.

It seemed extraordinary only because it reminded us of something essential: not everything alive needs to become information in order to have meaning.

And someone said: Looks like rain.