The day the clock tower finally chimed again, the whole village gathered beneath its shadow. The air smelled of lavender and smoke from the blacksmith’s forge, and for the first time in years, people felt time flow with music instead of silence.
But just before the final bell tolled, Kian, now a young man, collapsed. He had hidden his illness from everyone, even Amara, not wanting to burden her. His body had grown frail, but his spirit had lived long enough to see the tower breathe again.
Amara held him in her arms as the last chime echoed across the valley. Tears streamed down her face, but Kian smiled weakly.
“You fixed the tower… just like your father would have,” he whispered. “Now it will never stop again. Even if I do.”
His pocket watch slipped from his fingers, still ticking. Amara clutched it, her heart shattering yet swelling with pride. Kian was gone, but his dream, his light, would forever live within the tower’s song.
Every dawn after, the bells rang not just for time, but for memory. For the boy who wanted the world to hear its heartbeat again.
And though Amara walked with grief etched into her soul, she also carried warmth, because love, once born, never truly dies. It lingers in every tick, every chime, every breath of tomorrow.
