What do you lose when you translate silence?

I used to think translation was about replacing one word with another. Now I wonder if it’s about holding the space between them—where meaning doesn’t arrive, but lingers. Last night, I sat in an empty conference room after a session ended. The air still hummed with what had been said, and what hadn’t. I didn’t move. I just listened to the silence that wasn’t empty. What does it mean to translate that? And why does it feel like betrayal when language finally arrives?