When time permits

Previously

…Elara understood then. The clock tower was not a destination. It was a beginning—a place to arrive at, a place to think of, and then give into. Assured expectancy, Lumina had called it. The knowing that something waits, without knowing what it is. She turned to the crowd. “Thank you,” she said. “For coming. For listening. For giving your attention to something unfinished.” The teenager with the headphones spoke up. “When do we do this again?” Elara laughed, a sound that surprised her. “When time permits.” And the clock tower chimed again, its third hand spinning slowly, pointing to every moment at once.