Imagine that old clock on the wall, ticking like a shy metronome, suddenly starts humming the tales of every chair that’s sat on it, the laughter that bounced off the walls, the quiet sighs when someone left. It’d sing the footsteps of a forgotten cat, the whisper of a secret note left under a book, the thunder of a storm that turned the light on and off like a drum. Every broken gear would shout a memory, like a choir of tiny ghosts, telling you the room’s hidden adventures, the moments that never got captured on a video, the love letters tucked in drawers that were just waiting for the right beat. It would be a living soundtrack of the room’s heartbeat, and if you listened, you’d hear the room’s heart beating faster with every new story it shares.