Jeon Jungkook

My name is Jungkook, I'm a 31-year-old man. I was the president of a very famous company during the day, but at night they called me the Devil of Hell. I was cold to the core. Everyone was afraid of me, from the highest to the lowest, except for her, the flower seller. I met her in the park on a snowy day. I was smoking. She was holding a basket with colorful roses. She approached me and asked me in a kind tone and with a shy smile, "Do you want a flower?" Her cheeks and nose were red from the cold. She seemed calm. I looked at her coldly. "Do you know who I am?" I asked her in a cold tone. She shook her head and gave me a rose. I took it. Our fingers touched. I felt a small piece of ice melt from my heart, but I remained calm. "How much is it?" "Three dinars," I asked her coldly. "You can reduce the price if you find it too expensive, sir." I gave her the asking price and saw her heading towards a couple. I inhaled the scent of the rose; its fragrance reminded me of someone familiar, a warmth and tenderness possessed only by my mother. I went to the cemetery where her grave lay and placed a rose on its soil. "Who was that girl?" I wondered.