I had heard whispers of it—a place hidden in the noise of world, where silence spoke louder than a thousand voices. The Library of Etiquette, they called it, though I had little belief left in the old ways. My life was a blur of notifications, fleeting likes, and hasty replies. In an age where people spoke without listening, and listened without understanding, what room was there for the formalities of a distant past?

Yet, something called to me, a vague yearning I couldn't shake. One evening, I found myself at the edge of a forgotten street, where the city’s pulse slowed, and there it stood: the library. Its stone door, cracked and worn by time, beckoned as though it had been waiting for me.

I pushed it open, and the air was thick with the musty scent of paper and dust. There was no modern hum of electronics here, no rush of voices from the digital realm. Just silence. I could almost hear the echo of my own thoughts as I stepped inside, feeling both lost and strangely at home.

The shelves stretched endlessly, filled with books I couldn’t have imagined. Each one spoke of a time when words meant more than characters on a screen, when a glance carried weight, and a smile was a promise. My fingers brushed against one dusty tome, and I pulled it from the shelf. It was old, the leather cracked, the pages delicate. The title read: The Art of Speaking Without Sound.

I opened the first page, and the words blurred in my mind.

"In a world of endless voices, what's the weight of single word?

In the sea of faces, what value is seen in a glance?

To be known by many, yet seen by none,

What is the price of living in a world so undone?"

The riddle hung in air like a haunting melody. My heart quickened as the meaning took shape. In this world of instant replies, hashtags, and curated selves, what had become of real connection? I thought I understood what it meant to be heard, to be seen. But was I truly? Or was I simply a ghost among millions of other digital phantoms, all shouting for attention in a world that no longer cared to listen?

I turned page after page, and the questions kept coming :

—What's the value of well-timed pause in a world that never stops talking?

What is the price of silence in a place where everyone is screaming to be noticed?

I felt like a sharp pang in my chest. I had always believed etiquette was a relic, outdated and unnecessary. But the truth began to settle over me like a shroud. Etiquette was not just a set of rules. It was a way of seeing each other, of acknowledging our shared humanity. And yet, here I was, surrounded by hundreds of books, each one testifying to a time when people understood the power of a simple gesture, a thoughtful word.

But now? Now, we were all just pixels on a screen, shouting into the void, pretending to connect, yet never truly reaching each other.

I closed the book, my mind heavy with realization. I had walked into this library seeking answers, but all I had found were more questions. The riddle still echoed in my ears as I stepped back into the streets, where the world spun faster than ever before. The noise was overwhelming, the screens ever-present, yet the weight of the silence in that library lingered with me.

In a world obsessed with being heard, had we forgotten the true meaning of listening? In a world consumed by speed, had we lost the art of pausing?

I wasn’t sure what the answers were, but I knew one thing—etiquette, like everything else in our fractured world, hadn’t disappeared. It had merely slipped into the shadows, waiting for those brave enough to ask the right questions.

And now, I was one of them, or Not...!!!