(flash story)

Mrs. Chen’s Time Shop sat between a laundromat and a defunct video rental store. The sign was hand-painted, the windows dusty, and most people walked past without noticing it. But Sarah had heard whispers about the old woman who sold minutes, hours, and occasionally – if you were lucky – entire days.

“How much for an hour?” Sarah asked, stepping into the cramped shop that smelled of green tea and old books.

Mrs. Chen peered at her over wire-rimmed glasses. “Depends. What hour do you want?”

“Last Tuesday, 3 PM. Just one hour.”

The old woman’s eyes narrowed. “Ah. The interview hour. Popular request this week. Three memories.”

“Three?” Sarah clutched her purse. “But yesterday you told Angela it was only two!”

“Inflation.” Mrs. Chen shrugged. “The memory market’s volatile. Must be happy memories, clear as crystal, at least five years old.”

Sarah bit her lip. She thought of her sixth birthday party, her first kiss under the bleachers, the day she got her college acceptance letter. “Fine.”

Mrs. Chen produced a brass pocket watch from a drawer. “Memories first.”

One by one, Sarah watched her memories float away like golden butterflies, disappearing into a jar on Mrs. Chen’s shelf. The old woman handed her the watch.

“One hour. No more. Can’t change anything big – the universe doesn’t like that. But small things…” She smiled. “Small things are negotiable.”

Sarah clutched the watch and nodded. One hour to redo her interview, to not spill coffee on her blouse, to remember the answer about her five-year plan. One hour to change everything.

As she turned to leave, she glanced at the jar of memories. They swirled like fireflies, and for a moment, she could have sworn her birthday candles were still glowing inside…

Mrs. Chen was already helping another customer