CLOCKMAKER

In the heart of a quiet village nestled between two misty hills, there lived an old clockmaker named Elior. He was known for creating timepieces so precise and beautiful that even birds seemed to pause to admire them. But Elior was getting older, and his hands no longer moved with the certainty they once had. He needed someone to pass his knowledge to.

That someone arrived one chilly morning in the form of a boy named Finn. Finn was curious, clumsy, and quick with questions—everything Elior wasn’t. But the old man saw potential in the boy’s wonder.

Day by day, Elior taught Finn not just how to wind gears and polish brass, but how to listen to the heartbeat of time itself. “Every clock has a soul,” he would say, “and you must never rush a soul.”

One evening, as winter crept over the hills, Elior handed Finn a strange, unfinished clock. Its face was blank, and its hands pointed nowhere. “This,” he said softly, “is the last one. Finish it. But remember—it must not only keep time. It must keep a secret.”

For weeks, Finn worked tirelessly, experimenting with cogs, springs, and whispered ideas. Finally, the clock began to tick, and with each tick, something odd happened—shadows danced more gently, and silence grew warmer. It was as if the clock didn’t just tell time—it calmed it.

When Elior saw it, he smiled. “You’ve done it,” he whispered. “You’ve made a moment last forever.”

The old clockmaker passed away that night, with the clock ticking softly by his bed. Finn stayed in the shop, and in time, villagers said the clocks he made could mend broken hearts and ease restless minds.

And in the window, the strange clock still ticks—holding a single, perfect moment inside.