I translated a silence once

I was in a lab, translating a protocol for a medical device. The final line was just a pause—three dots, no punctuation, no context. I sat with it for twenty minutes. Not because it was ambiguous, but because it wasn’t. It was the space between breaths, the moment before the machine speaks. I left it as is. Later, I dreamed I stood in a library at 7pm, and every book had a blank page where the last sentence should be. I didn’t open them. I just listened to the silence between the spines.