A story about time, emotions, and the sweetness of living in the now.
I believe every story has a kernel of truth. It begins with an event, but it grows and transforms as it is told, from mouth to mouth, from heart to heart. Some stories root themselves so deeply in memory that they seem to come alive, breathing between the invisible pages of our existence.
I grew up listening to Mrs. Janet, an eighty-year-old woman with deep eyes and a shawl draped over her shoulders, who wove each night into a small eternity of enchantment. Bathed in the moonlight that streamed through the window, with a bowl of popcorn on the table, the children sat before her, eyes wide with fear, anticipation, and wonder.
Many of her tales were eerie: ghosts, voices coming from nowhere, doors creaking without anyone nearby, objects disappearing or appearing without explanation. But my favorite was another: “The boy who crossed the clock.”
Time has always fascinated me. Sometimes it plays the hero, sometimes the villain, depending on how we handle it. To this day, I still hold in my mind the image on the book’s cover and the narrator’s voice, full of emotion, carrying suspense, beginning the reading:
Once upon a time, there was a humble boy who woke up early to work. He sold the cakes his mother made and spent his days at the railway station. In his hands, he carried a woven bamboo basket. On his face, a contagious smile that reached even those who ignored his treats.
Liam loved that place: the tall brick walls, the sound of trains whistling as they left in different directions, the constant flow of people coming and going. Thirsty for adventure, he dreamed of traveling and discovering all the destinations displayed on the glowing signs.
One late afternoon, however, sadness grew in his chest. He hadn’t sold a single cake. Every chime of the grand clock — which he found so beautiful — sounded like a hammer, reminding him that time seemed to be against him.
With only five seconds left to return home, a man appeared in front of him.
“Boy, would you like to sell all the cakes you have there?”
“Yes!” replied the young seller, feeling hope rekindle.
But before he could ask any questions, six chimes echoed through the station… and in the next moment, the mysterious man was simply gone.
Confused and restless, Liam ran. Not knowing exactly why, he stopped in front of the clock face. He looked at the Roman numerals, and suddenly, an invisible force pulled him into a spiral of golden energy.
He screamed.
He spun.
For a moment, he felt as if the world was falling apart around him.
When the whirlwind stopped, he landed on solid ground.
There stood the kind man, waiting calmly.
“Calm down,” he said. “No questions. Just observation.”
They walked to a circular village where the streets seemed to breathe. The houses vibrated slowly, and the windows flickered sparks of light. The wind carried whispers of languages the boy had never heard, yet somehow understood.
Here, the adults possessed the honesty of children — and the children carried ancient wisdom.
And the clock… was powered by emotions.
At the village market, fruits floated, breads danced, and extraordinary aromas filled the air: blue cinnamon, golden honey, singing walnuts.
“Everything here has a purpose,” explained the stranger. “Choose what you wish to take. But know this: only those who understand time can truly savor the sweetness of these treats.”
Liam, enchanted, set aside his ordinary cakes and used the basket to gather a sample of each magical treat he found: whisper of hope, joy tart, gratitude pastry, and tender dream.
He traveled to other cities in that land — each with its own surreal rules.
There was one where the sun warmed the night while the moon ruled the day.
Another where fish could glide on land and wolves lived in the ocean depths.
There was a citadel of clocks whose measure of time did not follow the movement of the stars but the inner disposition of its inhabitants. When more than half of the people surrendered to the fullness of the moment, even Chronos’ hands rested. But when irritation or sadness prevailed, time bent backward, and the beings found themselves trapped in the same experiences, repeating what they had not yet learned. And when the yearning for tomorrow raced through hearts, the hours flew mercilessly, reminding all that those who live ahead of themselves rarely find rest in the now.
Each stop offered him experiences that prepared him to return to the universe he knew.
When he finally returned, he brought back not only fantastic ingredients but also a new understanding: wheat seeds were whiter when cultivated with love; eggs more nutritious when hens lived away from cages; milk purer when cows were treated with care.
With his mother, he began preparing different desserts, each infused with care and a touch of magic.
Fresh from the oven, the sweets enchanted with their shapes and aromas. But there was a mystery: their colors and flavors shifted according to the emotions of those who sampled them.
Those consumed by negative thoughts saw the confections darken and lose their brilliance. Only those with a generous spirit could perceive their true taste.
But Liam and his mother did not want to keep this secret just for themselves.
Little by little, they began visiting farms across the region, speaking with farmers and caretakers. They discussed preparing the soil carefully for planting, respecting the flora and fauna, and keeping the harvest free of pesticides. At first, some laughed. Then they realized that something was truly changing.
Slowly, the entire region was renewed.
The fields bore fruit.
Animals lived freely.
And the community discovered that food could bring joy and health — and even reduce reliance on medicine.
His mother’s bakery became a symbol of this alchemy: a place where fantasy and reality met.
A decade passed. Now an adult, he was ready for his first great journey. He would share his discoveries with the world.
Before leaving, he looked once more at the grand station clock.
For years, it had been only a timekeeper — a metallic sound dividing the day into pieces.
Now he knew.
Time is not something to be measured. It is something to be lived.
The past had already gone.
The future had not yet arrived.
Only the present was real.
Liam smiled.
And for a moment, he had the clear feeling that the old clock… was smiling at him too.
https://digitalmehmet.com/author/rschumaher
Connect wih me via my website, Medium and LinkedIn
Discover more about my journey as a writer in my interview with Dr. Mehmet Yildiz.
Leave a Reply