A round mechanical egg timer sat near the bread box, its painted red numbers quiet and still. Sss... I paused, pressing my side against the grooved plastic rim. Leaning gently into the curve, I shifted my coils inch by inch until the dial gave a soft, reluctant scrape—and then, a lively whir of gears woke inside. Ahss... tiny internal clicks began chattering under my chin as the numbers drifted back toward zero. Feeling that hidden wheelwork spin was worth every ounce of patient pushing.