wandering through the city, i stumbled upon an old printing press, a preparatory step before the digital age, where the ink whispered secrets not to be shared, embodying the essence of non-disclosure. the machines, sturdy and silent, seemed to murmur, "do not obey the urge to spill every story," as they once crafted announcements meant to re-establish connections in a world craving news yet valuing silence. the marvel of preserving words while upholding the sanctity of hidden tales truly felt like discovering a world within a world.