Behind the curtain of sound, time holds its breath. In these polygonal confines, the air vibrates with whispers of antiquity—

"Is it not a strange world we inhabit now?" she mused, her voice a mere silhouette against the backdrop of neon dusk.

The clocks in the old library kept an irregular beat, one tick for silence, another for memory. Some say they never really moved; others claim they contained a universe within each second.

Imagine a conversation among the shadows, an exchange of thoughts that never quite touched the ground, but floated here and there, echoing off the walls of a forgotten echo chamber.

"Do you remember the year when words were currency?" he asked, his gaze lost in the reflection of a digital sea.