Allen started walking toward Gate No. 4. A sense of calm settled over him, easing the emotional storm he had felt earlier. He gazed down the path, lost in thought, and whispered,
"Amy… Marry is just like you—full of life, vibrant, cheerful, mischievous. She reminded me so much of you today. I always wanted a daughter like her."
Suddenly, a voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Hey, boy—want a charm?"
Allen stopped mid-step and looked to his left. A middle-aged man sat on the grass with a blanket spread in front of him. It was filled with charms and lockets. His long hair was messy, with some white strands mixed in. It looked like he hadn't washed it in days. He smelled bad, like someone who hadn't taken a bath for a long time. A few flies buzzed around his head. He wore an old, oversized coat that looked like it had been used for years. His gloves were torn at the fingers, showing his dirty nails. His pants were loose and worn out, and his flip-flops were falling apart.
Even with his dirty and tired appearance, there was something sharp in his eyes—like he was carefully watching everything, hiding something behind his messy look.
Allen walked up to the man's makeshift stall and said, "Sir, you called me?"
The charm seller smirked and replied, "Sir… it's been a long time since someone called me that."
"Well, boy, let's get to the point. Want a charm?"
Allen replied, "No, sir. I don't need it."
The charm seller lifted a round-shaped amulet. "Why not? This one might bring you money."
"I already have paper. I don't need more of that," Allen answered.
"Oh," the seller said, putting it down and picking up a heart-shaped one. "Then how about this? It might get you a lot of girls."
Anger rose inside Allen. Without thinking, he shouted, "I don't need it!"
He turned and started walking away.
But after just two steps, the seller said, "Why? Because of Amy?"
Allen froze. It was as if an invisible force had stopped him in place. He slowly turned and stared at the seller.
"How do you know her name?" Allen asked.
"I know many things," the seller replied calmly.
Allen snapped, "Bullshit! You must've heard the name at the food court just now!"
"I've been sitting here for the past three hours," the seller said, still calm.
"Then… are you stalking me?" Allen asked.
"Why would I?" the seller replied.
"Maybe one of my business rivals sent you to investigate me," Allen accused.
The vendor gave a short laugh. "No. I don't play the petty games of this world."
"You're bluffing," Allen said. "You probably just heard her name when I spoke to the kids earlier."
The seller's face turned slightly impatient. "I know much more than just her name."
Allen narrowed his eyes. Maybe he's trying to act mysterious to sell more charms, he thought.
Trying to stay calm, Allen said, "Please don't use her name again. I'm not interested in your charms or your tricks."
He turned around to leave.
But the vendor spoke again, in a quiet, chilling voice,
"She died of a weak heart… I guess nobody knows that."
Goosebumps ran across Allen's body. An alarm bell rang in his heart.
He turned back and shouted, "Who are you?!"
The charm seller simply replied, "I'm just a charm seller trying to sell his charms."
There was an eerie silence in the air.
But inside Allen, tension rose fast. His heart was pounding, and panic showed on his face. His bowler hat had fallen to the ground, but he didn't even care.
Allen stared at the man—
the one who had just uncovered the darkest wound in his heart.