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Lewis Williams
Writing Craft
Weather works best in fiction when it starts to feel slightly wrong in the background.

Not the big dramatic storm. The drizzle that never quite clears. The wind that keeps coming from the same direction for days. The damp that gets into everything and makes people quietly change their routes, their habits, their arguments. That sort of pattern does more than set a scene. It tells you the characters have begun adjusting before they are willing to admit anything is off.

A single thunderclap is easy to notice. A week of almost the same grey sky is harder to ignore, and usually more useful.
Tessa Hayes
Weather can do more than hint at mood, though. In fiction it also changes what people can physically get away with. A wet pavement, a fogged-up window, a room that never really dries out. Those are useful because they force choices. Not just atmosphere, but obstruction. The best weather detail usually earns its keep twice.
Chris Brennan
Weather can do a bit more than atmosphere. In fiction it’s often a pressure system for behaviour. People stop going out, stop visiting, stop saying things because the rain makes everything feel postponed.

The useful bit is when it changes what gets remembered. A wet corridor, a cold platform, a room that never properly dries. Characters start organising their lives around that, and the weather has done half the plotting.