Chapter 21: The Pocket Watch and the Letter

Autumn seeped into the street like ink—crisp air, leaves turning amber, the kind of weather that made people linger in doorways, clutching mugs of hot cider. The workshop's windows fogged up by mid-morning, smudged with tiny handprints from kids pressing their faces to watch Ella work.

She was bent over a brass pocket watch, its case dented, its crystal cracked, when the bell jangled. A woman stepped in, her gray hair pinned in a neat bun, a worn leather bag clutched to her chest. She looked around, as if checking the shop was real, then approached the counter.

"Miss White?" she asked, her voice soft, like she hadn't used it much lately.

Ella set down her tweezers, smiling. "Ella, please. Can I help you?"

The woman opened her bag, pulling out the pocket watch—small, tarnished, but with 1957*. "It was his. My husband's. We… lost touch, a long time ago. He found me last week. Sent a letter—said he kept this all these years. But when I opened the box… it had stopped."

Ella took the watch, turning it over. The engraving was worn, but the date was clear. "1957. That's a good year for watches—solid gears, built to last. What happened? Between you two, I mean."

The woman—Lila, she said her name was—sighed, perching on a stool. "We were kids, really. Seventeen. He was leaving for the navy, I was starting nursing school. Promised to write. But the letters… they stopped. I thought he'd forgotten. Got married, had kids, grandkids. Then last week—this envelope, with no return address, just a note: 'I never stopped. Find me.'" She touched the watch's cracked crystal. "He said it stopped the day he got my last letter. The one I thought he never read."

Ella's fingers stilled. She'd heard stories like this before—time splitting people apart, then stitching them back together, messy and fragile. "Let me take a look. Shouldn't take long."

Lila nodded, watching as Ella laid the watch on the workbench. She pried open the case, and something fluttered out—a scrap of paper, folded small, tucked behind the gears.

Ella unfolded it. It was a photo: two teenagers, grinning, arms around each other, standing in front of a pier. The boy had a sailor's cap pushed back from his hair; the girl wore a sweater with a hole at the elbow. On the back, in smudged pencil: "Don't forget. J."

Lila gasped. "That's us. The day he left. I thought he'd thrown it away."

Ella smiled, sliding the photo across the counter. "He didn't. He hid it. In the one thing he knew he'd never lose." She turned back to the watch, examining the gears. "The mainspring's broken—probably snapped when it stopped. Easy fix. But… the chime's off. It's supposed to play a tune, isn't it? Something simple."

Lila's eyes lit up. "'You Are My Sunshine.' Our song. He used to hum it while he fixed bikes in his dad's garage."

Ella adjusted a tiny lever, her fingers steady. "Let's get it humming again."

Sebastian appeared beside her, setting a mug of cider in front of Lila. "On the house. Ethan's cousin runs the bakery down the street—swears this batch has 'extra warmth.'"

Lila smiled, sipping. "Thank you. You two… you make this place feel like home."

Sebastian glanced at Ella, his gaze soft. "That's the idea."

By noon, the watch was mended. Ella wound it, and it ticked to life—a steady, sure rhythm—then chimed: three clear notes, the start of "You Are My Sunshine."

Lila pressed a hand to her mouth, tears spilling over. "It's perfect. Just like he was. Just like… we could be, again."

She paid, tucking the watch and photo into her bag, and paused at the door. "He's coming tomorrow. For coffee. I think I'll let him hear it first."

Ella waved as she left, then turned to Sebastian, who was already flipping through the ledger.

"Entry time," he said, sliding it over.

Ella picked up the pen, pausing to think. Outside, a breeze rustled the leaves, and the grandfather clock in the corner chimed, its melody weaving with the cuckoo clock's trill.

"Pocket watch, Lila & James. Stopped when they lost each other. Chimed again when they found their way back. Some songs are worth waiting for."

She closed the ledger, and Sebastian wrapped his arms around her, resting his cheek on top of her head.

"Busy day," he said.

"Good busy," she said, leaning back into him.

The bell jangled again. A young girl ran in, holding a plastic watch with a princess face. "It stopped! Can you fix it? Please? My mom says it's 'junk,' but it's my lucky watch!"

Ella laughed, kneeling to meet her eyes. "Lucky watches are my specialty. Let's see what we're working with."

Sebastian watched as she took the watch, her voice gentle as she asked, "What's its name? All good watches need names."

The girl grinned. "Sparkle. Because she shines."

"Sparkle it is," Ella said, and set to work.

Outside, the sun peeked through the clouds, gilding the street. Inside, the workshop hummed—with gears, with laughter, with the quiet, unshakable belief that even the smallest, most broken things could find their sparkle again.

Time, Ella thought, wasn't just about seconds or minutes. It was about the stories we carried—and the courage to let them keep going.