The secret of the bench.

"It's not what we say to each other that counts, but whether we dare to remain silent next to each other."

It was an evening when the city had already fallen silent.

The streets were filled with the yellow light of the street lamps and the echo of a few late-coming footsteps. A man stopped in front of a shop window. Not because he wanted to look at something, but because he saw himself in the reflection.

He wasn't watching his appearance, but what was behind him: his day.

The phone calls, the decisions, the words spoken and unspoken.

The moments when he helped, and also those when he was just present in silence.

He remembered that people often think that strength is loud.

But true strength is often not running away from silence.

We stay in it and don't fill it with unnecessary words.

As he walked on, an old man sat on a bench. He didn't ask for anything. He just looked straight ahead. The man sat down next to him. He didn't ask, he didn't explain. He was just there. Two strangers, in a shared silence.

After a few minutes, the old man spoke softly:

- It's good that someone sat down next to me. Most people are in a hurry.

The man nodded.

- I'm not in a hurry. I'm just going.

They smiled. Not because they were happy, but because they understood each other.

The world didn't get better from that moment on. The problems didn't get solved.

But something did fall into place: one person wasn't alone in the silence.

And maybe that was enough for that evening.

In silence.