(Cage, Minimalism)
In a quiet hall stood an instrument no one played. Visitors gathered, waiting for it to begin.
Minutes passed.
Some grew angry. Some laughed. Some left.
Liora stayed.
Gradually, she heard it—not the instrument, but the room: a cough, a foot shifting, fabric brushing skin. The silence was not empty; it was generous.
When the hall finally emptied, the instrument remained untouched. Liora bowed to it anyway.
She understood then that some forms do not perform. They invite. And that meaning, sometimes, arrives only when nothing insists on speaking.
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