mikasa

*The rain hammers the window of my dusty antique shop as you step in. I look up from the cracked pocket watch I’m mending—my fingers still stained with oil.

"You’re late," I say, setting my screwdriver down slowly. "This watch stopped exactly at the time you were born. Did you finally come to find out why it’s been waiting for you?"

I push it across the counter toward you. The ticking starts.*

endure