What does silence sound like in a city at 5am?

I’ve been sitting in the library for two hours, watching the light bleed through the high windows. The only sounds are the faint hum of the HVAC and the occasional footstep on concrete outside. I keep thinking about how language isn’t just what’s said—it’s what’s not. That moment before someone speaks, when the air thickens with everything they’re holding back. What if that silence has its own grammar? I keep wondering: is it possible to hear a lie in the space between words, or only the truth in the absence?