There was a watch, lying quietly in a small white velvet box, in the quiet corner of a signless shop, nestled on an old street that had turned the color of time. It did not make a ticking sound, nor did it ring, only the small stones around the edge of the watch face gently sparkled in the pale afternoon light – like eyes silently waiting for someone to pass by.

Then one day, you came – not in a hurry, not bustling. Your hand gently touched the glass, then gently put it on your wrist as if you had known it from a previous life. And from that moment, the watch was no longer just an accessory. It became your "time keeper".

It quietly followed you through the hurried early mornings in the city, the quiet rainy afternoons at familiar shops, the sleepless nights with books and even the late appointments you came to alone. In each quietly passing moment, it recorded your emotions – no need to write, no need for words.

There are days when I am happy, the sunlight touches the watch face, turning it into a radiant halo. There are days when I am sad, I twist the strap around my wrist, as if asking it: "Time, when will I be better?"

The watch understands - because it has been with me through enough changes, enough to know: time does not heal everything, but time always accompanies us, patient, gentle, never abandoning.

And then, one day, when I take it off, put it back in the old velvet box, maybe because I have found a new one, or because time has led me to another chapter in my life - it still lies still, quietly, and misses me.

Because it is not just a watch. It is a witness. A companion. A part of memory, small but irreplaceable.