Sunday after Sunday, the elderly nuns through dimly lit corridors, their whispered prayers merging with the echo of their footsteps. The air was thick with devotion, a hush so profound it seemed to have weight. Soft habits brushed against stone floors, candlelight flickered against timeworn faces. They lifted their eyes toward something unseen, their souls laid bare in the stillness. It was not the silence of emptiness but of presence—an absence so full, it spoke louder than words.