The Vuloyi was more than just a word attached to a shop. It was a small haven of craftsmanship nestled quietly on a bustling street.
From the outside, the shop's large window displayed an array of handcrafted wooden items, each piece telling a story of patience and skill.
Most of the items were practical cooking utensils carved with delicate patterns, wooden spoons and spatulas that promised years of use, and bowls that seemed to hold the warmth of the artisan's hands.
But there was also an undeniable charm in the decorative pieces: intricately carved figurines, small sculptures of animals, and elegant frames that could brighten any room.
Their unique shapes and clever designs caught the eyes of children and adults alike. There were puzzles that challenged the mind, spinning tops painted in vibrant colors, and miniature chess sets that seemed to invite quiet afternoons of thoughtful play.
The games had a timeless appeal, bridging generations with their simple yet captivating allure.
Despite the richness of its contents, the Vuloyi was not a grand or lavish place. Its interior was austere, with plain wooden floors and unadorned walls that allowed the craftsmanship to speak for itself.
On this particular day, the shop was unusually calm. From the outside, through the window, it was easy to see that only two visitors were inside. One was a woman standing thoughtfully before a glass display case filled with music boxes.
The woman's fingers hovered over the boxes as she considered which melody she wanted to bring home, her face reflecting a mixture of nostalgia and delight.
Near the cashier, a man was finishing his purchase. Ansel watched as the man, whose name he did not know, handed over a few bills and collected a small, wrapped package.
As the door closed behind the departing customer, Ansel stepped inside, the soft chime of the bell announcing his arrival.
Ansel moved deliberately toward the display case filled with music boxes, his fingers lightly tracing the polished glass as he examined the delicate treasures inside.
At the same time, a woman quietly made her way toward the cashier. She moved with a calm grace, her presence subtle yet undeniably magnetic. As Ansel passed by her, an unexpected sensation seized him. A sudden stillness that seemed to suspend time itself.
The air around him shifted abruptly; a cold wind, sharp and biting as ice, swept through the shop, chilling him to the bone. His limbs stiffened involuntarily, as if frozen in place by an unseen force. For a moment, Ansel was trapped in that eerie pause, unable to move or breathe freely.
Then, she was getting far from Ansel. the icy wind vanished. The atmosphere returned to normal, the warmth of the shop reclaiming its space. The moment became normal and Ansel's body no longer felt frozen.
Then Ansel looked back and noticed her who was at the counter with a music box. From afar Ansel did not see anything suspicious of the woman. There was no negative spirit that followed her.
She seemed ordinary, almost serene, yet the memory of that chilling moment lingered in his mind like a whisper of something beyond explanation.
Curiosity stirred within him. Who was she? What was it about her that had caused such a profound reaction? Ansel found himself unable to look away, his eyes discreetly following her movements as she glanced around the shop.
When her gaze finally met his, a flicker of recognition, or perhaps suspicion, passed through her eyes. It was as if she sensed his watchful attention.
Feeling suddenly exposed, Ansel quickly averted his eyes, focusing intently on the row of music boxes before him.
Yet, even as he tried to lose himself in the delicate craftsmanship of the boxes, his thoughts remained tethered to the mysterious woman.
There was something about her. Something that defied explanation and beckoned him to uncover the truth hidden beneath her calm exterior.
Although Ansel had absolutely no intention of buying a music box, he found himself inexplicably drawn to the display. The collection was diverse, each box promising a different melody, a different story.
There were familiar tunes like Can't Help Falling in Love with You and You Are My Sunshine, their gentle notes evoking warmth and nostalgia. Then there were more obscure selections, such as Susume no Tojimari, a song that carried a delicate, almost wistful charm in its melody.
"It seems he has made a lot of progress." Ansel muttered softly to himself, recalling the craftsmanship and care that must have gone into creating these intricate pieces.
Among the many, there was one that caught his attention immediately, his favorite one. A music box playing Que Sera Sera, the timeless melody that had always held a special place in his heart.
Without hesitation, he wound the key and let the music flow. The delicate notes filled the air, weaving a gentle tapestry of sound that seemed to suspend time itself.
For him, the song has a very deep meaning. Especially in the tone, right on the lyrics of 'The Future Not Use To See'. It echoed in his mind with a weight that felt almost tangible.
His grandpa also reminded him many times just not to say every single word that he saw would happen in the future, except for certain moments.
Even so, Ansel didn't understand it at all. For him, it was not so important and he just ignored it. After all, it had absolutely no effect on his life.
Suddenly, the spell was broken by a sharp voice calling out his name.
"Ansel!!!"
Someone called him. The voice seemed to wake him from the subconscious. He closed the music box and returned it. He headed towards the voice.
"Hey, what are you doing here?" Andrew's voice broke through the quiet hum of the shop, drawing Ansel's attention.
"Looking for something." Ansel replied, his eyes still fixed on the music box in front of him.
Right there, on the polished wooden shelf, lay the very music box the woman had taken earlier. Ansel's fingers hesitated for a moment before he carefully opened the lid. A realization dawned on him. "So, she didn't buy this music box…"
From the music box, Bryan Adam's song was heard, right here waiting for you. He realized one thing. It seemed that almost all music boxes with old songs were much more in demand. It was clear by looking at all the ranks of the music box in the window.
"She ordered another song." Andrew, watching Ansel's thoughtful expression, added quietly.
Ansel looked up, intrigued. "What song is it?"
"Tears in heaven." Andrew replied softly.
The song was famous as a crying killer song, especially if it is sung only with the strains of the piano.
Ansel asked himself. Why would someone buy a box of music with a tearful song. Usually, people buy boxed music with romantic and calming songs.
If the woman had chosen the song Tears in Heaven, it was enough to confirm Ansel's growing suspicion. That haunting melody, filled with sorrow and longing, spoke volumes about the emotions.