The old clock on the wall had stopped at exactly four minutes past midnight. It had been sitting in the hallway for three years, gathering dust and silence.
"You're staring at it again," Hinata said, leaning against the doorframe with a small, amused smile.
"I just can't remember if I ever wound it," I replied, though the lie felt thin. The clock wasn't just a piece of furniture; it was a marker of a boundary I couldn't quite recall crossing. I shifted my weight, feeling a strange, phantom heaviness in my limbs, as if my body were still recovering from a long, deep sleep it hadn't actually taken.
