The Man Who Collected Moments

The city was loud, restless, and always rushing somewhere. People moved with purpose, tracking their every second on smartwatches, apps, and wall-sized LED clocks. It wasn’t time they worshiped—it was productivity, the illusion that life could be measured in completed tasks.

In the middle of this machine-like society lived an old man named Idris.

Idris didn’t own a watch. He never made a to-do list. His house didn’t even have a calendar. Most people called him eccentric. Some said he was mad. But Idris had a secret: he collected moments.

Not hours. Not achievements. Just moments.

---

Every morning, while the rest of the city buzzed and beeped to life, Idris sat outside his modest home with a small wooden box on his lap. Inside it were slips of paper, each one scribbled with a memory:

"A child’s laughter on a rainy day."

"The smell of old books in a forgotten library."

"A stranger's eyes that said thank you without words."

When a neighbor asked why he collected such things, Idris replied, “Because moments are the only thing time can’t steal.”

The neighbor laughed and walked away, muttering something about wasted potential.

---

The Parable of the Clockmaker

One day, a young man named Saif—fresh out of university, brilliant and burnt out—heard of Idris and his unusual habit. Saif had been raised on ambition. Awards, goals, 5-year plans. But despite it all, he felt hollow. Restless. Empty.

Curious, he visited Idris.

“Why do you waste your life sitting here? You could be doing something valuable,” Saif challenged.

Idris smiled and pointed to the edge of the garden. A sundial stood there, half-covered in moss.

“You see that?” he asked. “It tells time using shadows. That’s how life is. We measure it by what blocks the light.”

Saif frowned. “That makes no sense.”

“It does,” Idris replied softly. “We think we’re chasing time, but we’re only chasing its shadow. And the more we chase, the less we feel the warmth of the sun.”

---

Saif visited often after that.

Sometimes, he brought questions.

“Do we have a purpose?”

“Is freedom real?”

“What happens after we die?”

Idris never gave direct answers. Instead, he told stories.

Of a bird that flew without knowing the sky’s end.

Of a seed that never asked why it must become a tree.

Of a painter who spent her whole life perfecting one color—and died before finishing the painting.

Each tale left Saif both confused and awakened.

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The Day the Box Was Empty

One cloudy morning, Saif arrived to find Idris’s wooden box open but empty.

“No more moments?” he asked.

Idris looked up, older than ever, but calm.

“I’ve learned something,” he whispered. “Moments aren’t meant to be stored. They’re meant to be shared.”

He reached into his coat pocket and handed Saif a folded paper.

It read:

“The moment you stopped searching for answers and started living the questions.”

That was the last day Saif saw Idris.

---

Years Later

Saif eventually left the corporate world.

He became a storyteller, traveling village to village, telling tales of the bird, the seed, the painter—and the man who collected moments.

People listened, laughed, cried.

In every town, Saif would leave a slip of paper under a bench, behind a tree, or folded into a library book.

Each one said:

"You are not your job. Not your past. Not even your plans. You are this breath, this moment. Everything else is shadow."

And in this quiet rebellion against time, Saif found peace.

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Reflection:

In a world that demands output and rewards urgency, we forget the silent miracle of presence. We chase futures that dissolve, regret pasts that can't return, and miss the only place we ever live: now.

Moments don’t beg for recognition. They simply are. And maybe, just maybe, that’s where meaning lives—not in grand answers, but in the simple decision to notice.

So today, pause. Listen. Touch. Smile.

And perhaps, like Idris, collect a moment worth remembering.