The Truth Untold

Ⅲ

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In the glow of the moonlight, she slowly lifted her head, looking into soft blue-gray eyes that seemed to mirror the night itself. She'd thought she'd see a face, but instead, there was only a white mask, shining faintly in the moon's glow, almost reflecting her own face back at her.

"One bucket of flowers, please," the masked man spoke, his voice gentle yet clear through the mask. He wasn't ready to confront her about selling his flowers. Clearly, she was doing it for money. But he had decided he'd look deeper into her motives.

"Which ones would you like, sir? Each flower has a different meaning" she replied, trying to sound composed.

He was impressed that she knew about the flowers' meanings. It seemed she had taken the time to learn and she truly had. She'd spent hours at the town's small library, borrowing books on flowers to make her role seem more genuine.

"What do you recommend?" he dared to ask.

"Well, sir, that depends on the occasion. If you seek luck, I'd suggest the lily of the valley. But if it's for a romantic gesture, then the red rose is best. I also have tiger lilies, which, um... symbolize..."

She stumbled, realizing she'd forgotten what tiger lilies stood for.

"They symbolize the desire to be loved," he completed her sentence. Who would know that better than him?
Who would understand his flowers better than the person who sowed them?

"Oh, right, of course," she laughed nervously. Then she asked him which flowers he wanted.

"I'd like one of each" he said.

She nodded eagerly, putting together a small bundle for him. When she handed it over, he paid her.
She thanked him with an energy that brightened her face. He could tell money was essential to her she must be in some kind of trouble. Because in this town no one was worried about money. Maybe she is from the poor quarter, he thought. That's why she is so unfamiliar to him.

"Look, over there! It's the masked man!" a small child whispered to another.

„Let's get out of here. I'm scared of him!"

Both she and the masked man turned their heads as the children ran off in fear. He sighed, disappointed but accustomed to such reactions. Dressed in a dark cloak and his mask, his blonde hair hidden, only his piercing blue-gray eyes were visible through the mask.

She noticed a hint of sadness in his eyes.

"Hey" she began, trying to be kind.

"I don't know why you wear that mask, but... you don't have to pay. I'd like to give you these flowers."

What she didn't realize was that he didn't need money. He owned the grandest house in the area, practically a castle hidden by the flowers in his garden. Wonderful from the inside. But from the outside just a building with stony edges. Unnoticed even to her, even though she visits his garden every day.

Money had never brought him happiness, yet her gesture touched him. For the first time, someone was looking past his mask and reaching out to him.

"Thank you, but I insist you keep the payment" he replied softly. His voice was gentle, almost calming, with a depth that lingered.

He turned away, his shadow cast in the moonlight before her. Then he vanished, slipping mysteriously behind the low walls of the town, capturing her curiosity.
Why were the children afraid of him? He seemed so gentle.

She slapped her hand to her forehead, realizing that it was the dark cloak and mask that made him look intimidating. If only he didn't wear that, the children wouldn't be afraid. His eyes alone calm, sad, like two crescent moons had told her all she needed to know. She sensed innocence, a hidden sorrow in him.

"Did you hear? The masked man came back again!"

"What's his name?" whispered one bystander.

"Why does he hide his face?"

"Everyone's scared of him, but I bet he's rich" another laughed.

"Excuse me," she interrupted, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"who is the masked man? and why does he wear a mask?"

"No one knows his name, or why he hides his face, or even where he lives" a man replied.

"Who cares, anyway?" scoffed another woman. "He just frightens the children and us too."

Listening to these wealthy townspeople, she noticed their harshness, the cold way they spoke about the mysterious man, with no kindness or curiosity, just judgment.

She glanced back at her flowers, noticing that half were gone. But she still hadn't sold enough to make ends meet. It broke her heart to throw away any wilting flowers, so she decided she'd return to the garden the next morning. This time, she would choose her flowers with more care.

Nether did she knew that in fact she was the one visiting the masked man every time.

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