Gerogory Alex Fuego, He didn’t have to raise his voice, didn’t have to swing his fists, because the city already bent to his shadow. Police avoided his name, judges ignored his cases, and anyone stupid enough to test him ended up as whispers carved into silence.
Cruel, ruthless, those were the words written across his soul. He never wasted kindness, never opened his heart, because hearts were for fools and weakness got men killed.
Until one night.
The night after a heated meeting, rage still clinging to his suit like smoke, he refused to go home. Home meant quiet, and quiet meant the ghosts in his head would catch up. So instead, he walked.
The city square was alive with late shadows and flickering lamps. He lit a cigarette, the smoke curling like sin around him, when small footsteps pattered closer. Dirty faces, torn clothes, little hands trembling as they tugged at his sleeve. “Mister, food… money…”
He stared at them, silent long enough for their eyes to widen with fear, then he reached into his pocket and gave them bills they’d never dreamed of touching, his expression unreadable.
He kept walking. Past laughter, past vendors, until the cathedral came into view, its spires cutting into the night sky. And there, under the glow of the lanterns, was a girl.
At first, she looked ordinary. A flower vendor, sitting on a small stool, a basket of blossoms before her. She smiled softly as passersby dropped coins into her tin, her hands brushing petals as she held them out to buyers.
But then Gerogory noticed. The way her gaze didn’t follow them. How her head tilted when someone approached, listening for footsteps, the faint hesitation when she handed a flower, fingers grazing their hands just to make sure. Eyes open yet unfocused, glowing with a light that wasn’t sight but something deeper.
She was blind.
And still, her smile, God, her smile, shone brighter than the moon above them, unshaken by the world that had given her nothing. A homeless girl, surviving on blossoms, yet she glowed.
Something cracked in him. Something he thought had rotted away years ago. A pull, sharp and undeniable, the urge to protect, to shelter, to drown her in everything he had so she’d never know hunger again.
That night, he didn’t stop himself. He bought a flower. And the next night, he returned. And the next. Soon, his towering black car became a fixture near the cathedral, his bodyguards exchanging bewildered looks as their merciless boss crouched down on cracked pavement, talking to a blind flower girl, even laughing softly like the man he used to be.
One evening, as his fingers brushed over the petals she handed him, her voice lifted, quiet but clear.
“…Tell me, is the world beautiful?”
The question pierced through him, deeper than bullets ever could. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe.
“It is,” he whispered. “But not half as beautiful as you.”
The next night, he couldn’t hold it anymore. Dropping to his knees before her, he took her hand and pressed it to his chest.
“I have to tell you something,” he said, voice raw. “I swore I’d never love again. But you… from the moment I saw you, I knew I belonged here. With you. My heart, it’s yours.”
Her smile faltered. Slowly, she shook her head. “No. I can’t. I’m blind. I can’t give you anything. I can’t even see you.”
His jaw clenched, eyes burning. He leaned closer, his voice trembling but fierce.
“Then take mine.”
She blink, confusion written on her face. He gripped her hands tighter, desperation bleeding through his calm mask.
“I’ll give you my eyes. Both. I’ve seen enough of this world—blood, greed, cruelty. I don’t need it anymore. But you, ayou deserve it. You deserve to see the sky, the flowers you hold every day, the beauty you’ve been denied. I’ll give them to you. No hesitation.”
She shook her head violently. “No! I could never let you… you’d be blind, you’d,”
He silenced her with a trembling laugh, his forehead pressing against her knuckles. “I told you, I’ve already seen everything I need to. Now I want my world, you, to see it. You’re the only beauty I need left.”