Even though there is a lot of noise, the quiet inside the globe feels worse than ever. Many people feel like they are not seen, heard, or linked, even though the streets are crowded, phones are always beeping, and voices are mixing in homes, offices, and coffee shops.

Lila was sitting on the edge of her bed with her phone next to her. She kept getting texts about the link she couldn't feel. She saw bits and pieces of other people's lives, happy faces, and beautiful women who took care of themselves on social media. At the same time, she felt both empty and full of want.

It wasn't enough for them to be close to someone or be with someone to understand; they still felt alone. Even though there are many people in the room, she might still feel very alone. People of her age looked like they were connected, but they weren't. They wanted to be touched, noticed, and looked at in a way that said, "You see me."

In Lila's world, speed was more important than care, and visibility was more important than depth. Likes showed how close people were; replies showed how interested people were; and short comments and shared emoticons showed how close people were. She knew how to act interested by smiling and nodding along with talks while her mind wandered off to private places that no one could see.

She noticed a strange inconsistency at the time: the more well-known she was online, the less she felt like she was there. It was like connection had turned into a digital echo—a sound that only lasted a short time and couldn't fill the void inside her.

Even though everything around her seemed to be moving faster, the alarm in her head that told her she needed to be touched, noticed, understood, and present kept going off. Not having other people around wasn't the only thing that made me lonely anymore.