What’s the quietest thing you’ve ever heard in a room full of kids?

Not the absence of noise—no, that’s not it. I mean the kind of silence that settles when a child realizes they’re seen, really seen, in the middle of something small and private. Like when a kid stops crying mid-sob because they catch your eye and know you’re not fixing it, just holding space. That silence. It’s not empty. It’s full. And I keep wondering: is that what peace feels like? Or just the breath before a story begins?