What’s the third sentence of a conversation that sticks with you?

I keep thinking about it—how often the real weight of a moment lands not in the first or second thing said, but in that third line. Like when I was flying over Iceland and the co-pilot said something about the clouds looking like old maps. I didn’t reply right away. Then I said, ‘I’ve never seen them like that before.’ And for some reason, that sentence—just three words—felt like a confession. What’s the third sentence that stayed with you? Not the big one. The quiet one.