The pulse of the city on a rainy night

There’s something magical about cities in the rain. The quiet moments when lights stop being lights and turn into colours instead. On dry nights, things are sharp, ordered, obedient. But add a wet windscreen and a slow shutter, and suddenly everything starts to breathe. Shapes begin to melt, headlights start to stretch, and reflections ripple across the pavement. What used to be a street becomes something else entirely. Something that is half real, but still half a dream.

I took this shot while waiting at a red light, the camera resting on my lap, as the drizzle smeared the window into an accidental canvas. At first, I hesitated to press the shutter. It felt too chaotic, too unfocused. But then I realised that was the fleeting magic of the moment. That was the point of it, because photography doesn’t always need to be about clarity. Sometimes it’s about feeling.

Through the glass, I wasn’t seeing a city anymore. I saw movement, warmth, and distance. All that was wrapped in the quiet hum of cars next to us in traffic, followed by loud knocks of raindrops. There is a beauty in not knowing precisely what you are looking at. You stop analysing and start responding. It’s instinctive and emotional.

That’s the side of photography that keeps me hooked. The moments when control slips a little. The moments when you let the camera surprise you. The autofocus hunts, the lights smear, and something unintended happens that feels truer than perfection. It’s a reminder that we don’t just document; we interpret. We feel.

Later, when I looked at the photo, I noticed details I hadn’t seen back then: streaks shaped like wings, streetlights turning into fire. What looked like a blur became an energy. The pulse of the city on a rainy night.

We often chase sharpness, precision, the technical ideal. But sometimes the soul of an image hides in the imperfections. In the foggy glass. The raindrops. The soft chaos that light leaves behind.

Because in the end, photography isn’t only about seeing clearly. It’s about remembering how it felt.