Chapter 18: Is it broken?

The next evening, Ren found himself standing in front of an old clockmaker’s shop—a place he had never noticed before, despite walking these streets a hundred times. The windows were dusty, filled with mismatched clocks in all shapes and sizes. Some were stopped, frozen in time, while others ticked along quietly, like forgotten heartbeats.

Something about the shop drew him in—like it had been waiting for him, just like the rooftop had. Ren hesitated for only a second before pushing the door open, a small bell jingling overhead.

The scent of aged wood and oil greeted him as he stepped inside. The room was dimly lit, the walls lined with shelves cluttered with clocks, watches, and gears of all kinds. It felt like stepping into a forgotten era, a place that existed somewhere outside of time.

Behind the counter, an old man with silver-rimmed glasses sat hunched over a delicate pocket watch, a tiny screwdriver in hand. He glanced up as Ren entered, his wrinkled face creasing into a gentle smile.

“Evening, young man,” the clockmaker said, his voice soft but steady. “What brings you here?”

Ren shifted awkwardly, glancing around at the ticking clocks. “I’m... not really sure. I saw the shop, and I just—”

The old man chuckled kindly. “You were curious. That’s good. Curiosity leads us to the most interesting places.”

Ren smiled, though it felt a little uneasy. “Do you fix clocks?”

The clockmaker’s eyes twinkled behind his glasses. “That’s one way to put it. Sometimes clocks need fixing. Sometimes they just need a little... encouragement.” He held up the pocket watch he had been working on, its hands now ticking smoothly. “Even the ones that stop still have a story.”

Ren wandered over to one of the shelves, picking up a small brass clock. Its glass face was cracked, and the second hand twitched erratically, as if struggling to keep up.

“What about this one?” Ren asked. “Is it broken?”

The old man looked over his glasses and gave a thoughtful hum. “Not broken—just lost. Some clocks don’t need repairs. They need to find their rhythm again.”

Ren set the clock down gently, brushing his fingers along its uneven surface. “What if... it never finds it?”

The old man smiled softly. “Ah, but that’s the beautiful part, isn’t it? It might find it tomorrow. Or the day after. Or maybe it won’t. Either way, the hands will keep moving.”

Ren nodded slowly, the weight of the man’s words settling over him. He thought about the timelines he had tried to repair, the moments he had rewritten in search of perfection. Maybe some things didn’t need fixing—maybe they just needed time to find their own rhythm.

The clockmaker motioned for Ren to come closer. “You carry something with you, don’t you? Something that ticks.”

Ren blinked, surprised. “How did you know?”

The old man chuckled. “You develop a sense for these things.”

Ren reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his wristwatch. It ticked steadily now, its second hand gliding smoothly across the face, as if all the chaos of the past few weeks had never touched it. He set it on the counter, watching as the clockmaker examined it carefully.

“Hmm,” the old man murmured. “A fine watch. You’ve carried it through quite a bit, haven’t you?”

Ren gave a small laugh. “You could say that.”

The clockmaker adjusted his glasses, peering more closely at the watch. “Interesting. Do you know what makes it special?”

Ren shook his head. “Not really.”

The old man smiled. “It keeps time the same way we do—by moving forward. No matter how many times you stop it, rewind it, or try to set it back, it always finds its way forward again.”

Ren leaned on the counter, his brow furrowed. “What if you get lost along the way? What if you can’t keep up?”

The clockmaker paused, tapping the watch face gently with one finger. “Then you take a breath. And you keep moving, even if it’s slow. Because time doesn’t care how fast you go—it only cares that you do.”

Ren stayed silent, absorbing the words. For the first time, they felt... right. He had spent so long trying to outrun time, to control it, that he hadn’t realized the simple truth: moving forward was enough.

The old man closed the watch carefully, handing it back with a smile. “There. It’s in good shape. It just needed someone to believe it could keep going.”

Ren slipped the watch back onto his wrist, the ticking sound comforting against his skin. He felt lighter somehow, as if the burden of trying to fix every moment had finally lifted.

The clockmaker folded his hands on the counter. “Now, young man, let me ask you this: What do you plan to do next?”

Ren exhaled slowly, considering the question. “I don’t know yet,” he admitted. “But... I think I’m okay with that.”

The old man smiled warmly. “Good. That’s a fine answer.”

Ren stood there for a moment, feeling the steady hum of the clocks all around him. The sound wasn’t overwhelming—it was soothing, like a reminder that life moved at its own pace, and all he had to do was follow along.

He glanced at the door, the pull of the outside world growing stronger. It was time to leave this little shop, time to step back into the flow of life. But before he went, he gave the clockmaker a grateful nod.

“Thanks,” Ren said softly. “For... everything.”

The old man chuckled. “You’re welcome, son. And remember—no matter how lost you feel, time will always find you.”

Ren smiled, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He stepped outside, the cool night air brushing against his face. The city buzzed quietly around him, lights flickering in windows, the distant hum of traffic filling the streets. But for once, Ren didn’t feel overwhelmed.

He glanced down at his watch, the hands moving forward in their quiet, steady rhythm.