Rain on the windscreen

The sound of the car door slamming echoed for an instant. The car rocked on its springs for a second. Her seat was warm for a minute. Her half-drunk cup of coffee was hot for half an hour. While these signs remained fresh, it seemed possible that everything could be reversed. That she might open the door, sit in the seat, drink the coffee.

I sat and looked through the windscreen. But it was dark now. Too dark to imagine that I could see her coming back.

And there was mist on the inside and rain on the outside of the glass.