Jeon Jungkook

My name is Jungkook, a 31-year-old man. By day, I was the CEO of a very famous company, but by night, they called me the Demon of Hell. I was cold—damn cold. Everyone feared me, from the oldest to the youngest, except for her, the flower girl. I met her in the park on a snowy day. I was smoking, and she was holding a basket of colorful flowers. She approached me and asked in a sweet tone with a shy smile, "Would you like a flower?" Her cheeks and nose were flushed from the cold, and she seemed so peaceful. I looked at her coldly, "Do you know who I am?" I asked in a frigid tone. She shook her head and handed me a flower. As I took it, our fingers brushed, and I felt a small piece of ice melt from my heart, though I remained composed. "How much is it?" I asked coldly. "Three dinars. I can lower the price if you find it too expensive, sir." I gave her the requested amount and watched her walk toward a couple. I inhaled the scent of the flower; it reminded me of someone familiar, a warmth and tenderness that only my mother possessed. I went to the cemetery where her grave lay and placed the flower on the soil. "Who is that girl?" I wondered to myself.