The Watchmaker
The shop smelled of oil and dust, the scent of time long past. The watchmaker sat behind the counter, his hands folded, staring at the empty door.
No one came anymore. Not like before.
He still worked, though there was little to do. A few old men brought in their timepieces out of habit. A woman, once in a while, with her grandfather’s watch, asking if it could be saved. But mostly, people no longer needed him.
They wore Apple Watches now — sleek, glowing things that hummed on their wrists, tracking steps, reading messages, mapping their lives in silent precision. No gears. No winding. No soul. If they broke, people did not fix them. They replaced them.
The watchmaker tried to understand. He had even bought one, just to see. It was light, cold, empty. A screen, nothing more. He set it on his workbench beside the old watches, the ones with weight, with stories, with hands that had touched time itself. It did not belong there.
Neither did he.
He ran his fingers over a pocket watch that had been sitting in his shop for years, one he had never been able to fix. His father’s watch. The gears wouldn’t catch, the hands wouldn’t move. The inscription on the back was still there, though the letters had worn soft from touch.
“To my son, who will do great things.”
He had done nothing. He had spent his life repairing the past while the world moved on without him. He was obsolete. A relic, like the watches he tried so hard to save.
A thought crept in — dark, heavy, familiar. Maybe it was time to close the shop for good. Maybe it was time to let go.
Then the bell above the door rang.
He looked up. A young man stood there, hesitating, a watch in his hand. Not an Apple Watch — an old Omega, its face scratched, the band worn thin.
“This was my grandfather’s,” the young man said. “He wore it every day. I know I could just get a new one, but… I don’t want a new one. I want this one to work.”
The watchmaker took the Omega carefully, turning it over, feeling the weight of it. A real watch. A watch that mattered.
He nodded. “I can fix it.”
Outside, the world pulsed forward, faster than ever. But in this small shop, time still had meaning. And for now, so did he.