The Boy Who Borrowed Time

The village where Rahim lived was ordinary at first glance. A river cut through the center, the mountains stood tall around it, and the people repeated the same stories every evening. But hidden inside this simple village was something no one spoke about. Something Rahim had discovered by accident, on a night when he could not sleep.

He was twelve, restless, and wide awake under the weak glow of a lantern. The clock on his wall had stopped ticking days ago, yet that night he heard it again. Tick. Tick. Slow, clear, almost alive. Confused, Rahim leaned close, but instead of seeing rusty gears, he saw a keyhole that had never been there before.

Children are curious by nature, and Rahim was braver than most. He touched the keyhole, and a chill ran down his hand. Suddenly, the air grew heavy. The room stretched long, like a tunnel made of shadows. He did not run. Instead, he whispered, “Open.”

And it did.

The wall folded into itself, and Rahim stepped into a place that did not belong to the world he knew. Rows of clocks floated in the air, some made of gold, some made of stone, and others that seemed carved out of pure light. Each clock ticked differently, but together they created a music that wrapped around his heart.

An old man appeared, though Rahim had not seen him walk in. His eyes were soft but his smile sharp, like a blade hidden in kindness. He said nothing at first, only studied Rahim as if measuring his soul. Finally, his voice cracked through the silence:

“You are late, boy. Time has been waiting for you.”

Rahim swallowed, his courage trembling. “What is this place?”

The man’s fingers tapped on a floating clock. “This is where time is kept, borrowed, stolen, and given back. Every life in your village has its own clock here. Even yours.”

Rahim looked around, dizzy with the thought. Thousands of clocks. Maybe millions. He wondered which one was his.

“Why am I here?” Rahim asked.

The old man leaned closer. “Because your clock is almost empty.”

Rahim’s chest tightened. He was twelve. How could his time be gone so soon? Fear clawed at him, but before he could speak, the man lifted a small brass clock glowing faintly. The hands were moving faster than they should. “This is yours.”

Rahim felt his knees weaken. The man saw his terror and offered him a strange choice.

“You may borrow more time. But every borrowed moment will cost you something. A memory, perhaps. A dream. Or maybe the trust of someone you love. Do you accept?”

Rahim hesitated. Children should not have to make such choices. Yet something inside him wanted to live longer, to see the world, to taste everything life promised. He nodded.

The man’s smile returned, thin and dangerous. He opened a drawer filled with sand that shimmered like stars. He poured a handful into Rahim’s clock, and the ticking slowed. Rahim’s chest felt lighter, fuller.

But when he looked at his hand, he noticed something missing. His favorite scar, the one from climbing the apple tree last summer, was gone. Along with the memory of how he got it. He could not even recall the laughter of his friend who had been with him that day.

The old man spoke calmly, as if nothing had changed. “Borrow carefully, boy. Time is generous, but it never forgets what it is owed.”

Rahim returned to his room. The lantern still burned. The night was quiet. But something was different. He had more years ahead of him now, yet less of himself remained.

And though he tried to sleep, the ticking of the clock would not let him.

It whispered all night. Reminding him that every choice has a cost, and every moment borrowed must one day be paid back.


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Final Thought

Not every gift is free. Sometimes, what we borrow in desperation becomes the very thing that takes us apart. Rahim knew this truth now, though he wished he had never learned it so young.