On the other side of the window, there was no sound. No sound of the city coming to life. No beep beeps of the distant horns. No humming of the traffic. No clanking of metal against metal. No muffled voices.
There was only light. Changing light. Patterns forming and disrupting. Flickering flashes. Orange turning yellow turning white. Tightening pupils. Clinging crows feet. Not there yet, but desperately trying to make a mark.
Fingers touched the thick window. A light misty vapour outlining the fingers. Trailing fingers down the dark glass. Smudges. A heavy sigh. The steam forms and with it a new kaleidoscope to the city. Slowing transforming.
It was time. To hear the sound.