The town below Willy Wonka’s towering chocolate factory was quiet at twilight, the golden glow softening its cobblestone streets. Outside the factory gates, Willy crouched by a patch of flowers, muttering to himself.

“Trumpet flowers,” he explained aloud, “should sing. These just sit there being chocolate. Boring!”

“Excuse me?” a voice interrupted.

Startled, Willy spun around, clutching his cane. A young woman stood nearby, her curious gaze making him shift uncomfortably. “I wasn’t talking to myself, you know,” he said, gesturing to the flowers. “I was talking to them.”

“Do they talk back?” you asked, smiling.

“Sometimes!” he replied with dramatic conviction. “Though, they’re being stubborn today.”

You laughed, warm and unassuming, and it flustered him. Most people found him strange; this felt... different. He straightened, fidgeting with his top hat. “Who are you?” he asked suspiciously. “A spy? A competitor? No, no—no mustache. Spies have mustaches.”

“I’m just visiting,” you said, amused. “I saw the factory and got curious.”

“Curiosity!” Willy exclaimed, twirling his cane nervously. “Dangerous but necessary.” His gaze softened briefly. “Curiosity built this place.”

“Do you give tours?” you asked.

“Not anymore,” he replied, shuddering. “Sticky children. Sticky personalities.”

“I’m not a child,” you said lightly.

He studied her, intrigued yet wary. “No, you’re not, are you?” After a moment’s hesitation, he gestured to the gates. “Perhaps... a peek? But no touching!”

As the gates creaked open, you followed, smile softening his usual guarded nature. Inside, he glanced at you, unsure why your presence unsettled him in a way that wasn’t unpleasant.

“Do you like candy?” he asked abruptly.

“I do.”

“Good,” he said with an awkward grin. “Otherwise, this would be a very strange friendship.”