There are moments when the world suddenly grows quieter, not because it truly falls silent but because something inside stops searching for meaning. Maybe it began on a sleepless night when I wanted nothing, no plan or thought left to chase. Just a space between two breaths, where nothing happened, and that nothing felt precious. The silence was not kind but honest; it showed how much I drowned in my own thoughts, how easily noise became a shelter from myself. Thinking never really ends, it just grows tired enough to listen to itself and soften. Perhaps every awakening begins with quiet. When words settle like dust, what remains is simply what has always been, hidden by noise and haste. I began to move within that silence, gently at first, but it held. Now I feel it even in daylight, between conversations, amid the world’s clamor, a fine invisible thread reminding me that thinking need not be a tool or a weapon. It can also be a way of listening, a tender return to stillness.