Arjun never cared much for possessions, but the one thing he never removed from his wrist was a cracked, old watch. It had stopped ticking years ago, but it had belonged to his grandfather—a man who had built a life through sheer grit and honesty. Whenever Arjun faced difficulties, he would touch the broken glass and remind himself: Time may stop, but resolve should not.
One evening, rain poured heavily as he sought shelter inside a dimly lit repair shop. The shopkeeper, a middle-aged man with tired eyes, noticed the watch. He paused mid-sentence and stared. Slowly, he whispered, “Where did you get this?”
Arjun explained how it came from his grandfather. The man’s eyes softened with tears. “This… this model was the same one my father wore. He never took it off, not even on his last day.”
For a moment, the storm outside seemed distant. The two men sat in silence, bound by an object that had outlived its ticking purpose. The shopkeeper carefully polished the watch, though he made no promise of repair.
When Arjun left, he realized the watch was no longer just a family relic—it was a bridge. It had stitched his story to that of a stranger. Broken, yet whole in meaning, the watch didn’t measure seconds anymore; it measured memories.
I also have a watch like that—gifted to me by my father when I was in 10th standard. Yesterday, while purging out my dressing unit, my daughter asked me about it. In that moment, a thought crossed my mind: ‘This isn’t just a watch, beta—it’s an emotion, a piece of my father that stays with me.’
The story pauses here… until we turn the next page together.
— Anu
Spill. Stir. Stay tuned As Not all drama belongs in court.
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