The Clockmaker’s Gift

Start writing...In a quiet village at the edge of a vast forest lived an old clockmaker named Edrin. His workshop was small, cluttered with gears, springs, and timepieces that hummed like gentle bees. People said he could fix any clock, no matter how broken—some even whispered he could fix time itself.

One winter evening, a young girl named Lira came to his shop carrying a shattered pocket watch. It had belonged to her father, who had vanished in the forest years before.

“It doesn’t tick anymore,” she said softly. “But it’s all I have left of him.”

Edrin studied the watch. The glass was cracked, the hands bent, the gears rusted. But inside the casing, he found something impossible: a second, hidden dial with no numbers—just a single marking shaped like a star.

“Where did your father find this?” Edrin asked.

“He said it was a gift from someone who saved his life,” Lira replied. “But he never told me who.”

Edrin’s eyes softened with recognition. He had seen this star before—long ago, in a time he rarely spoke of.

That night, he worked long after the candles burned low. As he repaired the tiny gears, the workshop filled with a faint, silvery glow. When he wound the watch, it ticked once… then again… and suddenly the hands began spinning backward.

Lira gasped as the room shimmered, and an image formed in the air—her father, standing in the forest, calling her name. He looked younger, whole, alive.

“It’s a memory,” Edrin whispered. “Time sometimes keeps echoes.”

But Lira reached out instinctively—and to Edrin’s astonishment, the image touched her hand. It wasn’t just a memory. It was a doorway.

“If you step through,” Edrin warned, “you can bring him back. But time will take something in return.”

Lira hesitated only a moment. “My father is worth anything.”

But Edrin shook his head gently. “No… time won’t take you. It will take the watch. This will never open again.”

That was a price she was willing to pay.

She stepped through the light—and returned moments later with her father collapsing into her arms, alive and sobbing with joy. The watch, now dull in her hand, had stopped forever.

Before they left, Lira hugged the old clockmaker. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Edrin only smiled. “We all forget,” he said quietly, “that time isn’t something to fear. It’s something to cherish.”

As they disappeared into the snowy night, Edrin returned to his workshop, wound a tiny silver clock on his shelf, and whispered to it:

“One more life set right.”

And the gears of time, somewhere far beyond the world, turned a little warmer.