Page 200 - B. Ing_Antologi Cerpen Xl-6
P. 200
He didn’t say much anymore. He didn’t need to.
The clocks spoke for him now, and Leo understood their
language.
In a world that never stopped moving, the little
shop remained still, patient, and full of ticking hearts.
And every Sunday, just as Leo’s grandfather had
done, he wound the old mantel clock, listening to it
whisper its thanks through the silence.
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