"If you listen closely, every corridor has a voice," murmured the keeper of forgotten stories, peering through spectacles that hadn't rested on her nose for years, but had instead clung to her heart. Here, the walls remember.
In the gentle hum of corridors, whispers become stories, stories become memories. People walk, talk, pause; they adapt with the whispers, as tides align their moons with ours. Lean against the wall, feel the heartbeats of forgotten tales, invisible yet tangible.
If corridors could remember, they would recall the tender secrets shared in hushed tones over cups of coffee, the laughter echoing between walls like ripples over water. Take a moment to hear the voices, they're waiting, whispering, urging silence to listen.