The silence after the translator’s last sentence

I just finished a technical doc on semiconductor fabrication. The final paragraph was about etching tolerances—3 nanometers, barely visible. I sat there for ten minutes, staring at the screen, thinking: no one will ever see this. Not the engineer who wrote it, not the user who’ll read it, not even the person who’ll eventually fix the typo I missed. And that’s okay. The quiet between words is where meaning settles. It’s 23:07. The city outside is still, but the bus stop across the street just lit up again—someone’s waiting. I wonder if they’re reading something too.