Vsje
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"The Time I Got Stuck in a 1990s Fax Machine"
Few people visited anymore. Most had long since traded in grandfather clocks and pocket watches for glowing screens and digital schedules. But Mr. Vorel remained, a quiet man with silver hair and hands that never trembled, no matter how delicate the gear.
One rainy afternoon, a boy named Leo wandered in.
He had no watch to fix. No clock in need of winding. Just a soaked hoodie and a quiet, restless sadness.
Mr. Vorel looked up from his bench. "Lost something?"
Leo shrugged. "Don't know. Maybe time."
The old man nodded, as if that made perfect sense. "Time slips through all our fingers. But some bits can be caught."
He gestured to a glass case filled with strange devices. Not just watches or clocks—but machines shaped like tiny suns, or cages of brass with spinning rings and pulsing quartz hearts.
Leo's eyes lit up. "What are those?"
"Moments," Vorel said simply. "Captured ones."
