Every evening the curator measured shadows across the gallery floors, the curve of a sculpture, the tilt of a painting, and noted their length on fragile parchment, careful not to disturb the silence because the air carried every sound, until one night she traced her own shadow and found it missing, the space where it should have been, stretched empty, and she realized that the room remembered only what she observed, and when morning came the sun spilled over the exhibits and no one noticed, not even the walls.