I reached East London to visit my friend’s invitation to her newly bought house. My friend, Maya, have a unique sense of decor and I never miss any chance to appreciate her artistry and creativity whenever I can. However, there was something that surprised me.

Yesterday, East London greeted me with its usual chaotic buzz – drilling from a half-finished building site, street vendor calls, and the distant sound of a siren. But none of it prepared me for Maya’s new place.

A modern terraced house with classic white paint and floor-to-ceiling windows looked incredible from the outside. But what really awed me was the inside. 

Shining spotlights reflected off polished concrete floors. Every piece of furniture was a study in minimalism. Everything was high quality, sleek and sophisticated.

Then, right in the heart of it all, on the middle white wall, hung something unusual. It was a wall clock. Not just any clock but an antique pendulum vintage masterpiece! Intricately carved with swirling vines, its wooden frame looked like it belonged in an abandoned gallery rather than in this ultramodern environment.

Rhythmic beats of brass accompanied the pendulum’s swing. But the real magic happened on the hour. As the clock’s needle reached 3 pm, a deep “bong” echoed through the room.

I heard a warm, melodic chime instead of a harsh digital beep, like a forgotten fairy tale melody reborn. “Isn’t it glorious?” Maya walked up to me with a gleaming glint in her eyes. “Found it at a flea market. Couldn’t resist it.”

I ran my fingers along the smooth frame wood. “It’s… perfect. So out of place but it actually belongs here pretty well.”

“This house is a canvas, clean and blank. But without a little character, it’s just a soulless shell. This clock, it reminds me that the past exists, that stories have unfolded within these walls”, Maya expressed.

We spent the rest of the afternoon surrounded by gleaming surfaces, fueled by evening tea. As the sun dipped below the London skyline, casting the room in a warm glow, the clock chimed again.

This time, it felt different. It wasn’t just a reminder of time passing, but a promise. A promise that within these ultra-modern walls, amidst the sleek furniture and spotless surfaces, a story was just beginning to unfold with a warm, comforting chime of a forgotten time.

Leaving Maya’s place, I stepped back onto the bustling East London street but the image of the antique clock remained. Sometimes the most antique decor holds a deep meaning, just like that vintage wall clock.

A little reminder that progress is not an endless race through time. Instead, it is about sitting down and embracing it, and enjoying something truly unique.

It was a lesson I won’t soon forget, just like the comforting chime that would forever echo in the heart of Maya’s futuristic home. No doubt, her sense of decor was truly unique, and also very deep.