Describe a library.

The room was dimly lit by hanging lights, which gave the two-tiered hall an almost cake-like appearance. Murmurs and whispers filled the air, floating above the heads of the girls and through the roof. These conversations were indistinct, unable to comprehend the word "silence," although, when you thought about it, nothing was ever silent in the room. The constant whizz of the printer and the flick of a book were always present. When the lady managing the library turned to shush those who broke the silence, she ended up breaking it herself, causing the room to turn icy cold. The cold metal chair legs pressed against the bare skin of the girls who couldn't quite keep still, and the fake wooden tables gleamed in the light of the room.

Suddenly, a poster dropped, and a sigh was heard from above. The workload was becoming unbearable for the lady in charge. Then, the silence resumed, or what silence there was in the library, for everything and everyone was restless, almost suffocating in the atmosphere. It was dense, weighing down on the girls hunching their backs and containing their heads within their book or their work. Beside one girl, a TV flicked from photo to photo, and she found herself peeping over all the time. She looked around for a new seat, but moving would cause noise, and noise was not allowed. Even the poster with the yellow border and the dog-eared corners said so. But it was the roof's fault, echoing any sound to cross its path. Beside the roof, the stairs cascaded down from top floor to bottom. A sign clung onto the roof with some sticky tape, where below, empty chairs and benches lay cold and isolated.

As the girls continued to make noise, a tall old man dressed in a black top and jeans suddenly appeared carrying a foldable table. He seemed to appear from nowhere, and the noise stopped as quickly as it had started. By the time the girls turned their heads back to the lady in charge, she had returned her concentration to her computer and sat, invisible, behind a bookshelf.