She found the watch in an old suitcase in the attic, among yellowed letters and dried roses. The case was cool to the touch, the dial had faded, and the hands had stopped at a quarter to three. Her grandmother just smiled, running a finger over the glass: 'They don't show the time, they show a moment. The very moment your grandfather, having missed his train, first started talking to me on the platform.' These watches didn't simply stop forever — in their quiet tick, one can hear the echo of laughter on an empty platform, the whisper of promises, and a silence full of meaning. Every scratch on the case is not a flaw, but a mark — here he grazed the taxi door, rushing to her birthday; here she nervously twisted the crown, waiting for his return. This collection is about the moments that stopped time. About how a random delay can become the beginning of a story. How the ticking in a quiet room can be louder than any words. We create not chronometers, but keepers of moments. Put them on — and you will hear the story of time, which will now speak for you. Because time is not the numbers on the dial. It is the story that continues with every step you take.