Mr. Ukpe’s hands did trembled as he wound the final spring on the brass pocket watch. His dynamic workshop smelled of old wood, grease, and time itself, the scent of years spent crafting perfection in solitude. Through his very dusty window, the sun cast long shadows, reminding him more on how quickly time slips away when you’re not really watching.
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Years back, in 1989, the young apprentice by name Emmanuel had come knocking, eyes bright and the heart eager.
“Teach me, teach me sir,” he said, “and I will never let you down.”
But Mr. Ukpe being proud and stubborn, scoffed. “Craft like this,” he said, while tapping the golden gears with his calloused fingers, “is for the patient minds. Not for boys who chase the wind.”
- Emmanuel left there with a silent nod. No really angered. No argument at all. Just that very quiet acceptance that lingered in Mr. Ukpe’s shop for years, haunting every tick the clock made.
The town did grew, the market bustled, and the people eventually stopped buying handmade timepieces. Yet * Emmanuel’s* name was the new name beginning to echo in tech fairs and television interviews, “The Village's watch the genius redefines wearable tech!” He had opened the Tempo Africa, merging vintage craftsmanship with AI. Even Swiss investors came calling for it.
Mr. Ukpe never reached out. Not even when Emmanuel featured in Time Magazine. Not when the boy — no, the man returned briefly to their town to open a school for the young inventors. And certainly not when the Ukpe’s own shop grew cobwebs and left in silence.
But the hindsight… oh, hindsight! It’s cruel in its clarity.
“I thought 🤔 I had time,” Mr. Ukpe muttered at himself one night, staring at Emmanuel’s school banner. “ It's Time to catch up. Time to apologize. Time to pass down what I knew…”, he said.
But now, at 78, with my fingers that are fumbling and my eyesight fading, regret was all he could hold tightly.
The old man picked up his newly finished pocket watch, the one he had once promised to craft only for a worthy apprentice as gift. The engraved name on the back read: To Emmanuel, the one who kept ticking forward.
He wrapped it perfectly in velvet and walked slowly to the school.
The receptionist, so surprised, smiled. “You’re Mr. Ukpe, aren’t you? He talks about you often.”
“He… does?”
She nodded slowly, dialed his office. “Please wait.”
When Emmanuel emerged, older, yes, but with the same fire in his eyes, the silence between them said more than what words ever could.
“I made this… too late,” Mr. Ukpe said, voice low, holding out the watch.
But Emmanuel smiled gently, tears pooling. “Of course It’s never too late. I still have time to learn from you.”
- Ouh my goodness just like that, the clockmaker's regret found him peace, not in actually rewinding the past, but in finally turning a new gear forward.
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