The word that started.

Once upon a time, there was a sentence that lived silently in someone's heart for a long time.

It wasn't loud.

It didn't want to teach.

It just rested there, like a warm palm on a cold day.

For a long time, no one heard it.

Not even the one who carried it.

Because there are words that take time to be born.

But one evening, they were spoken.

Not in a big moment.

Not amidst applause.

Just like that... simply.

As if they had always been in the air.

And when they were spoken, something invisible happened.

The word no longer belonged to the one who spoke it.

It passed into the heart of another person, where it took on a new meaning.

There it was no longer a memory, but a hope.

Not a past, but a beginning.

That's how important things in the world begin: not with noise, not with force, but as a truth spoken in silence.

And whoever utters such a word once may not know how many dark evenings it will light in someone else's life.

Because a real word does not end where it is spoken — but begins where it is heard.

There is a word that is just a sound.

And there is a word that sets out on a journey.

The light that carries with it is no longer ours — but the world's.