And here we reach the point where we stop waiting for a miracle from above. No divine decree is needed, nor a universal erase stroke. What’s needed is for each of us to clutch our spark of rebellion tight, carry silence in our pocket like a talisman, and look at the world not with the eyes of those who scroll but of those who hold their breath. We must accept chaos as the mother of invention, leave open the cracks of perfection—because it’s through them that the truest lights shine. We need to sit side by side, without sending a single message, and rediscover what it really means to feel. And when the chorus of notifications starts to play again, we’ll know we’ve already sung a different melody: that of our free voices, our imperfect gestures, our looks that ask no permission. This is the finale—not a period, but a comma. An invitation to begin again each day, to defend our disconnection as an inalienable right, to protect wonder from the background noise. Because in the end the true revolution isn’t a grand gesture but that small “no, I won’t click today” that saves us from digital oblivion and brings us back to the essence of who we are: human, fragile, astonishingly free.