【Joniko's 3-Minute Short Story】 'Only the Third Clock Was Lying'

I decided on the apartment because the real estate agent said, "It's a bit of an unusual property."

A 10-minute walk from the station, 1LDK, five years old. The conditions were normal. Yet, just by being told it was "unusual," my heart was moved for some reason.

When I went for a viewing, I understood the reason immediately.

"This room has three clocks."

The real estate agent pointed to the living room wall. There, three clocks were hanging side by side. They were all the same design, with simple white faces and black hands. They were as clean and inorganic as if they were brand new.

I compared the three faces.

The first one was at exactly 12 o'clock.
The second one was also at exactly 12 o'clock.
The third one was also at exactly 12 o'clock.

The second hands were all stopped.

"…They're all at the same time."

When I said that, the real estate agent slowly shook his head.

"No. They will change from now on. Depending on the person who lives in this room. It's not that the hands move, but that the 'way they look' changes, apparently."

"What do you mean?"

"The previous tenant said... the first one measures 'happy time,' and the second one measures 'sad time.'"

I almost laughed. Even though it was a joke-like explanation, the real estate agent had a serious face.

"And the third one?"

When I asked, the real estate agent searched for words for a moment.

"The third one... is apparently 'related to ordinary time.' But the previous tenant said they didn't really understand it either."

Happy. Sad. Ordinary.

I looked at the three clocks. They all had the same face and pointed to the same place. Yet, just by being lined up there, I felt like I could distinguish them for some reason.

"How do they measure it?"

"Well. But the previous tenant said that thanks to these clocks, 'I could see my own life better.'"

See my life.

That phrase strangely remained in my heart.

"Are there any other problems?"

"The rent is about 20,000 yen cheaper than the market rate. If you don't mind the clocks, I think it's a good deal."

I walked around the room and looked at the living room wall again.

The three clocks remained silently pointing at 12 o'clock. A face that hadn't started anything yet.

After thinking for a moment, I said,

"I'll take it."

The real estate agent smiled as if relieved.

As I was leaving after signing the contract, while putting on my shoes at the entrance, the real estate agent said in a small voice,

"Please take care of the clocks."

It was as if the clocks were alive.

I smiled vaguely and closed the door.
Deep in my chest, the air of the unfamiliar room still remained.

I moved in at the beginning of summer.

After finishing moving the cardboard boxes, I picked up the scraps of packing tape scattered on the floor. Sweat stuck to my back, and my throat was parched.

I drank some water and suddenly looked at the living room wall.

The three clocks were lined up there.

The first, the second, and the third.
The hands remained pointing at the same place.
The second hands did not move.

Nothing had started yet.

"Nice to meet you."

I muttered that, not to anyone in particular. Only for the moment I put it into words, I felt like the room became mine just a little bit.

I had always been bad at expressing my emotions.

At work or in my private life, I always tried to stay calm. Even if something happy happened, I wouldn't show it on my face. Even if something sad happened, I would settle it within myself before talking to anyone.

Showing emotions wasn't so much scary as it was—a habit.

That's why, at first, I only half-believed the story about these clocks.
The other half I left on the shelf as a troublesome occult story.

For the first week, nothing really happened.

I woke up in the morning, brushed my teeth, went to work, came home, ate dinner, took a shower, and went to sleep.
Every time, I would glance at the clocks.

All three were at exactly 12 o'clock.
The second hands didn't move either.

"I guess it doesn't change that conveniently after all."

It was the morning of the seventh day, just as I was thinking that.

I woke up and went to the living room as usual.
Light streamed in from the window, and dust in the room danced slowly.

I looked at the wall unconsciously.

The first clock was pointing at 12:05.

"…Huh?"

My breath hitched.

The second and third were still at exactly 12 o'clock.
Only the first one had advanced slightly.

Searching for a reason, I remembered yesterday.

A small project went well, and my boss said, "Well done."
I just smiled and replied at the time. Because of the people around me, I didn't show my happiness. Just like always.

But, on the way home.
That phrase was repeated in my heart over and over, and every time I waited at a traffic light, my mouth almost relaxed into a smile.

That was, indeed, happy.

—Could it be, that time?

I opened a drawer and took out a half-used notebook.
Without hesitation, I wrote on the first line.

Week 1: Happy time 5 minutes

From that day on, the clocks were no longer a "topic of conversation."
They became an object of observation.

Every time something happy happened, I started to look deep into my own heart.

Was that a fake smile just now?
Was that just being polite?
Or was I truly happy?

That night, I got a call from a friend.

We talked for the first time in a while and laughed about trivial things. We asked about each other's recent lives, complained about pointless things, and halfway through, my voice became lively.

The call lasted probably about 30 minutes.

But it wasn't all at the same temperature.
For the first few minutes, there was a hesitation, like we were testing each other.
Even while laughing in the middle, my head was thinking about something else somewhere.

Still, there was a moment when I could truly think, "This is fun."
A time when, as if the core of my heart was unraveling, laughter spilled out on its own.

—I feel like that was about 10 minutes.

The next morning.
I looked at the wall first thing.

The first clock was pointing at 12:15.

It had advanced 10 minutes.

"…As I thought."

I felt a strange sense of conviction before happiness.

This clock isn't measuring the time I'm laughing.
It's not the length of the event either.

It's measuring only the amount that happiness reached the core of my heart.

I opened the notebook and added below the previous day's entry.

(Addendum) Call with friend: Happy time +10 minutes

The first clock was there silently.
As if to say, "That's correct."

The second and third were still at exactly 12 o'clock.

I suddenly let out a breath.

In this room, I will probably,
receive my own emotions in a "visible form."

Happy time, sad time, and,
then—something related to ordinary time.

Even though nothing should have started yet.
I felt like it had already begun.

After that, I started looking forward to seeing the clocks every day.

On days when something happy happened, the first one would advance.
On days when nothing happened, it would stay stopped.

While watching that, I gradually learned the contours of my own emotions.
The difference between "intending to feel" and "truly feeling" is thrust upon me in a visible form.

—Interesting.

I was a little scared of myself for thinking that.

When a month had passed, the second clock started to move.

It was the night of a day I failed at work.

I came home, took off my shoes, and stood in the living room without even turning on the lights.
In the dark room, only the clocks appeared to float in white.

I was scolded by my boss.
Because of my mistake, I caused trouble for the whole team.

On the way home, I was thinking about the same thing the whole time.

"If I had checked there."
"Why didn't I notice?"

I replayed it in my head over and over, failing over and over.

I was in a dark mood for probably about an hour.

But the clock—

The second one was pointing at 12:10.

"…10 minutes?"

I said it out loud unintentionally.

Even though I was depressed for an hour, it only advanced 10 minutes.
Does that mean I am "not sad"?
Or is it something else entirely?

I opened the notebook and wrote.

1st month: Sad time 10 minutes

After thinking for a bit, I realized.

Being depressed and being sad are not the same.

Depression is the processing of failure. It's reflection. It's impatience.
But sadness is in a deeper place.

This clock isn't picking up superficial depression, but only the time when the bottom of my heart truly hurts.
A few days later, there was another "sad thing."

An old friend was moving away, and we met for the last time.

While we were talking at the cafe, I was laughing.

We talked about memories, asked about recent lives, and time passed as usual.
But, at the moment of parting.

In front of the station ticket gate, the moment I said, "See you."
The inside of my chest hurt as if it were tightening.

I don't think I was feeling lonely for 30 minutes or anything.

Even though we were together for a long time, the moment my heart was truly squeezed was,
only the last—few minutes.
The next morning, I looked at the second clock.

12:15.

It had advanced 5 minutes.

"…As I thought, that's it."

I quietly added below in the notebook.

(Addendum) Parting with friend: Sad time +5 minutes

After that, I continued to observe the three clocks.

The first "happy time" advanced little by little.

Time spent with friends. Time spent eating delicious food. Time spent listening to favorite music.
But it wasn't the "length" of the event, but only the moments I could truly feel happy that moved the hands.
The second "sad time" didn't advance much.
Even if there are painful things, there are surprisingly few things that make me feel sad from the bottom of my heart.

And.
The third clock remained at 12 o'clock the whole time.

I looked at it many times.

A face that didn't change.

Hands that didn't do anything.
But strangely, I didn't think it was "broken."
It wasn't broken—

I felt like it was just there "as that kind of thing."

Half a year passed.
The first clock was pointing at 2:15.

In half a year, there were 2 hours and 15 minutes of happy time.

The second clock was pointing at 45 minutes.
In half a year, there were 45 minutes of sad time.

The third clock was still at 12 o'clock.
"When does ordinary time move?"

I thought while spending my days.

Time spent working. Time spent doing housework.

Time spent blankly watching TV.

Time that is neither happy nor sad, just passing by.
—Could that be "ordinary time"?
But the third one doesn't move.

A year passed.

The first was 4 hours and 30 minutes.

The second was 1 hour and 20 minutes.

The third was still 12 o'clock.
One night, I suddenly calculated and laughed.
A year has 8,760 hours.

But the time I felt truly happy was only 4 hours and 30 minutes.

The time I felt truly sad was only 1 hour and 20 minutes.

Then, what about the remaining—8,754 hours?
Is that ordinary time?

Yet, the third one doesn't move.

Why?

I found the answer when a year and a half had passed.

One morning, I woke up and went to the living room.

I looked at the wall as usual.

The first and second were marking their respective times.
The third was still at 12 o'clock.

I opened the window.
The scent of early summer entered the room on the breeze.

At that moment, I realized.
Right now, I am not happy.

I am not sad either.

I am just here.
The wind brushes my cheek.
The sky is bright.

My lungs expand slowly.
—This is "ordinary time."
Time spent just living, neither happy nor sad.

It is always here.

That is why the third clock remains at 12 o'clock.
"Ordinary time" does not need to be measured.

No, that's wrong.

Rather than not needing to be measured—
The idea of measuring doesn't even reach this clock.

Because it is,
"time that is always here."

All time other than the special moments marked by the first and second clocks.
That is ordinary time, and

it has been existing all along at the place the clock hands point to, "12 o'clock."
I looked at the three clocks.
The first and second clocks record the special moments of my life.

The third one records nothing.

But that doesn't mean it's "not there."
It's "always here."

I stood there like that for a while.

The clock hands did not move.

But the air in the room was certainly moving. The wind coming through the window slightly swayed the edge of the curtain, changing the shape of the light that fell on the floor.

I looked up at the three clocks once more.
The first one marks my joy.

The second one marks my sadness.

And the third one—marks nothing.
However, it doesn't mean there is nothing.
It remains at the 12 o'clock position as a place for "time that is always here."

Whether I am feeling something or not,

as long as I am properly living today, it is always there.
Happy time and sad time are special.
The hands move as proof that my heart was moved.

But ordinary time is certain precisely because it is not special.
It doesn't disappear even if I don't measure and prove it.

It is just there.
I smiled suddenly.
I'm glad I decided on this room.

Special moments are not the only thing in life.

Special things are built on top of time that is not special.

That is why I can open the window today and feel the wind like this.
I sit down on the sofa.
When I lean back, the tension in my shoulders that had been there until just now slowly faded away.

The wind brushes my cheek.

The sounds outside are faintly ringing in the distance.

The three clocks were silently on the wall.
The first, my joy.

The second, my sadness.

The third, the daily life that is always here.
Each of them is watching over my time.
I will continue to live here from now on.

Together with the three times.