watch

Grandfather pressed the antique watch into my palm, its brass worn smooth by decades. In Chennai's old quarter, time moved differently. He'd inherited it from his father, who'd walked these heritage streets when temples still rang with untouched bells. "It stops sometimes," he whispered, "but it always restarts." I understood then. Life had broken him—loss, hardship, invisible wounds. Yet he'd continued, kept moving forward, teaching me resilience through his example. That watch now sits on my wrist, ticking steadily. When neighbors ask about it, I share his story. We are all healing together, one generation passing courage to the next, honoring those who came before us.