He who did not raise his voice.

"Volume does not make a word true."

In a village there lived a man who was not known for his words, but for his silence.

People often gathered in the market square.

They argued about politics, money, justice, who did what and who did not.

Whoever was louder was more likely to be right.

Whoever fought back faster was considered stronger.

One day a stranger arrived in the village.

He was tall, confident, and had a strong voice.

He spoke about order, decency, and that he knew what was right.

His voice filled the space.

The people nodded.

The volume seemed convincing.

The man, who was known for his silence, stood on the edge of the crowd.

He did not speak.

The stranger noticed.

"Why don't you say anything?" he asked loudly.

"You don't have an opinion, do you?"

He turned to the crowd, as if he were about to win.

The man said only this quietly:

"An opinion is not strong by shouting."

There was laughter.

The stranger stepped closer.

"Then you think I'm wrong?"

The man looked him in the eye.

"You might be right."

But volume doesn't make it more right.

The marketplace fell silent.

The stranger said a few more sentences, but they no longer had the same power.

Because his voice was strong, but the silence that was born around him was stronger.

People understood then: it's not who speaks louder that matters, but who stays straight when others raise their voices.

There was no winner that day.

The air just got cleaner.

And the man went home.

Not with triumph.

Not with satisfaction.

Just knowing that it didn't have to be loud to stay straight.

The truth doesn't shout.

It just stays.