The Man Who Sold Time

 No one knew where he came from — not even the boda guy who swore he saw him first. He had no name, no phone, and no backstory. Just a briefcase, an old wristwatch that didn't tick, and eyes that looked like they'd seen centuries.

He set up outside the market under a faded umbrella that read "Time For Sale - Cheap".

At first, everyone thought it was a joke.

But then people started buying.

The first was a woman with three jobs. She paid him with the little savings she had. The next day, she swore she felt like her days had 30 hours.

The second was a businessman — tired of losing deals. He paid in dollars, and for a while, it seemed like he could do a week's work in one afternoon.

More came. The old, the rich, the tired, the desperate.

But no one ever asked where the time came from.

Except for one child.

He walked up with no money, no request, just curiosity:

"Mister, where do you get all this time from?"

The man stared at the boy for a long moment. Then he smiled — not kindly, but like a truth had just been exposed.

"From people who waste it," he whispered. "Every minute they scroll without purpose, every hour they spend in fear... I collect it."

The boy frowned.

"And what happens to them?"

"They don't notice... until it's gone."

Then he packed his briefcase, turned his broken watch once, and disappeared before anyone could blink.

Some say he'll return.

Others say he never left.

But since that day, the market's a little quieter. And time... feels different.

Here's something to reflect about.

 > Time isn't always stolen in storms — sometimes, it's taken in silence.

We trade it for comfort, distraction, fear… and don’t even realize the cost.

Maybe the question isn’t how much time we have,

but what we’re really doing with

 it.