Snow fell in straight lines, like it had decided not to wander.
Elias locked the shop at dusk. Same ritual every December. Same bell. Same street emptying early. He sold clocks. Old ones. They ticked even when no one listened.
Inside his coat was a small box. It had been there for weeks. He had not opened it. He already knew what was inside.
At home, the apartment was dark except for the tree. No ornaments. Just lights. He liked it that way. Honest.
He sat. The clocks around him marked different hours. None of them agreed. He opened the box.
Inside was a watch. Cheap. Scratched. The kind sold at bus stations. It had stopped.
His daughter had given it to him years ago. Before she left. Before the arguments. Before silence became routine.
He wound it. Nothing.
Outside, church bells rang. Midnight.
He tapped the watch once on the table. The second hand moved. Then another. Then it ticked. Soft but real.
Elias smiled. Brief. Enough.
He placed the watch on the shelf with the others. For the first time, all the clocks sounded close to the same hour.
Snow kept falling. Christmas arrived.
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