Letters derived from architecture are more than a translation of form. What emerges is not only the shift of beams, eaves, or towers, but the way architecture surrounds, shelters, and shapes us. We live by it, we worship within it, we gaze upon it. From the extraction of points and lines, a different order unfolds: architecture ceases to be a monumental relic and becomes a legible script. It collapses and reforms before our eyes, fractured yet continuous like memory. Perhaps the silence of architecture is already a language, and letters are simply the way we learn to listen.