The grass around Lily’s house had turned the colour of toast. Every day the radio talked about the drought in Western Australia. The town dam was lower than anyone could remember.

“Please use less water,” said Mum, turning the tap off while washing dishes. Dad put buckets under the gutter to catch rain—if it ever came.

That night, thunder rumbled far away. Lily wasn’t sure whether to be happy or scared. She remembered the flood two years ago when water had rushed through the street. Now the thought of too much or too little water made her heart race.

When the first drops fell, she held her breath. Then she ran outside with her dog, Rusty. The rain was gentle, like soft tapping on a drum. She lifted her face and laughed.

The next morning the dam was still low, but the air smelled clean. “We can’t waste this gift,” said Mum. Lily helped fill watering cans with the rain they’d caught. Together they sprinkled the garden and promised to keep saving every drop.

That night, Lily wrote in her diary: “Rain isn’t scary anymore. It’s something to care for.”