The farmer walked away from the sleek, modern building of the property agent, each step feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds. The city street bustled around him, a river of noise and motion, but he felt completely adrift, isolated in his own bubble of sorrow and frustration.

  Cars honked, people chatted loudly on their phones, shop doors opened and closed, spilling music and conversation onto the sidewalk – the vibrant energy of the city felt like a cruel joke, mocking his own heavy heart.

  He trudged slowly, his shoulders slumped under an invisible weight. His worn, village-style clothes felt out of place here, marking him as an outsider in this world of sharp suits and hurried footsteps.

  He clutched the strap of his simple cloth bag, its emptiness a stark reminder of his failed mission. His mind kept replaying the scene in the agent’s office – the cold dismissal, the finality in the man’s voice, the humiliation of being escorted out like a beggar.

  Regret gnawed at him. Selling the land… it felt like betraying his ancestors, betraying his own past. He pictured the fields his father and grandfather had worked, the smell of the earth after rain, the comforting shade of the old tree near the boundary line.

  That land wasn't just dirt and grass; it was memories, it was roots, it was everything his family had ever known. He had spent his entire life there, learning its rhythms, feeling its heartbeat beneath his feet. It was a part of him.

  But life, relentless and unforgiving, had backed him into a corner. His wife’s illness, the mounting hospital bills that swallowed every penny he earned, the worry lines deepening on her face – he would do anything to help her, anything to ease her pain. Selling the land was the only option left, a desperate sacrifice laid on the altar of necessity.

  And now, even that seemed impossible. The agent’s words echoed in his ears: 'Worthless... no one will buy it.'

  He blinked back the moisture gathering in his eyes, swallowing the lump in his throat. Around him, the city pulsed with life, indifferent to his silent suffering.

  Well-dressed men and women hurried past, their faces intent on their own destinations, their own successes. They wouldn't understand the ache in his heart, the feeling of losing not just property, but a piece of his soul. His sorrow felt invisible here, drowned out by the relentless roar of urban life.

  With a deep, ragged sigh that seemed to pull the last bit of energy from his weary body, the farmer forced himself to keep walking, though he had no real destination in mind now. Where could he go? What could he do? Each step on the hard pavement felt alien, echoing the hollowness inside him. He longed for the familiar feel of soft earth beneath his boots, the quiet whisper of the wind through the trees on his land.

  Just as he was about to be completely swallowed by his despair, lost in the memories of greener fields and simpler times, a voice called out from behind him, sharp and clear above the street noise.

  "Hey, sir! Wait a moment!"

  The unexpected call sliced through his thoughts, making him freeze mid-step. It wasn't the tone of authority he’d heard from the agent or the guards. This sounded… different. Younger. He turned around slowly, his body stiff, blinking against the afternoon sun glinting off the shop windows.

  Standing a few feet away, looking directly at him, was a young man. He couldn’t be much older than twenty, dressed in simple, unremarkable clothes.

  But there was something arresting about his gaze – it was steady, focused, and held a strange mix of determination and something else… maybe a hint of knowing mischief? The young man’s sudden appearance, his direct address, felt surprising, almost jarring after the indifference he’d faced all day.

  The farmer’s brow furrowed. He squinted, trying to place the young man, but he was sure he’d never seen him before. Was he mistaken? Was the call meant for someone else?

  "Are you… calling me?" the farmer asked, his voice rough with disuse and emotion. He instinctively lifted a calloused hand and pointed a questioning finger at his own chest, a gesture born of years of interacting with strangers cautiously.

  The young man nodded immediately, closing the remaining distance between them with a few confident strides.

  "Yes, sir. I was calling you," he confirmed clearly, his voice polite but firm. He offered a small, composed smile.

  "My name is Adam. I overheard some of your conversation back there at the agent’s office. And I think… I might have a great offer for you."

  The farmer’s eyes narrowed instantly. An offer? From this kid? After the crushing rejection he’d just experienced, his first instinct was suspicion, deep and ingrained.

  His mind immediately jumped to conclusions – another time-waster, another dreamer, maybe even a trickster trying to take advantage of his obvious distress.

  He let out a weary sigh, the sound heavy with cynicism. He shook his head, too tired, too heartbroken to entertain any more false hope.

  "Listen, kid," he said, the weariness evident in his voice, "I appreciate… whatever it is you think you're doing, but I really don't have time for jokes or games right now." He waved a dismissive hand, a gesture meant to sweep away Adam’s words before they could even take root. He turned his back again, ready to resume his lonely, aimless walk. He just wanted to be left alone with his misery.

  But before the farmer could take more than a single step, Adam’s voice rang out again, louder this time, cutting through the farmer's retreat and making sure the words landed with undeniable impact.

  "I want to buy your land!" Adam declared firmly, the statement clear and unambiguous above the background noise of the street.

  Those five words hit the farmer like a physical blow. He stopped dead in his tracks, his forward momentum completely arrested. His body went rigid. Slowly, very slowly, he turned back around to face Adam.

  The weary annoyance on his face was gone, replaced by a look of stunned disbelief, then sharp, focused intensity. His eyes locked onto Adam’s, searching the young man’s face for any sign of insincerity, any hint that this was just another cruel joke.

  "You… Are you serious?" the farmer asked, his voice barely a whisper, trembling slightly with a mixture of shock and a sudden, unwanted flicker of hope he couldn't quite suppress.

  Adam met his searching gaze without wavering. He nodded firmly, his expression serious now, his eyes steady. "Yes. I'm serious."

  As the weight of Adam's words settled between them, Adam suddenly became aware of a change in the atmosphere around them. His slightly raised voice, combined with the farmer's dramatic halt and turn, had drawn attention. People walking past slowed their pace, casting curious, sideways glances.

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  A couple standing nearby openly stared, whispering to each other. Adam saw the mix of curiosity and judgment in their eyes. He realized discussing a land deal, especially with a farmer who looked visibly distressed, right here in the middle of a busy public sidewalk was probably not the best idea. It attracted unwanted attention, scrutiny.

  Leaning closer to the farmer, Adam lowered his voice significantly, making it softer, more private. "Look, maybe this isn't the best place to talk about this," he suggested calmly.

  "People are staring. If you're really interested, perhaps we could discuss this somewhere more private? Maybe grab a coffee or something?"

  The farmer hesitated, his eyes still fixed on Adam’s face. He studied the young man intently, weighing the sincerity in his eyes against the inherent strangeness of the situation. Who was this kid? Why would he want his 'worthless' land? Was this some kind of elaborate setup? His mind raced with conflicting thoughts – suspicion battling against the desperate need for this offer to be real.

  After a long, tense moment, during which the city sounds seemed to fade into the background, the farmer finally gave a single, short nod. The flicker of hope, however fragile, had won out over caution.

  "Alright," he said simply, his voice low and rough. "Follow me."

  Without another word, he turned decisively and started walking again, but this time with a destination, cutting through the crowd with a new sense of purpose, however uncertain. Adam fell into step closely behind him, his own mind buzzing with possibilities, questions, and a healthy dose of cautious optimism. This felt right. This felt like Phase Two beginning in earnest.

  Unseen by either Adam or the farmer, however, their brief, attention-grabbing exchange hadn't gone unnoticed. Standing near a bus stop a short distance away, leaning against a wall and scrolling through his phone, was a young man in college-style clothing. His eyes had flickered up when Adam raised his voice, and a jolt of recognition had gone through him. He knew that face.

  It was Adam. The same Adam who used to be at their university, the one John Walker and his buddies loved to torment. The student smirked, his eyes narrowing with a familiar mix of surprise and contempt. He watched Adam engage with the shabbily dressed older man, saw them talking intently before walking off together.

  "Well, well. What the hell is that idiot looser doing now?" the student muttered under his breath, the words laced with mockery. A sneer played on his lips as old memories surfaced – memories of taunting Adam, laughing at his misfortunes, participating in the bullying orchestrated by John.

  "Still homeless, wandering the streets, huh?" he added sarcastically, shaking his head with feigned pity that barely concealed his disdain. Getting kicked out of university clearly hadn't improved his situation, the student thought smugly. Maybe he was trying to scam that old farmer?

  This was juicy gossip. John would definitely get a kick out of this. Deciding the scene was too good not to share, the student pushed himself off the wall, pocketed his phone, and quickly turned, walking away in the opposite direction – heading towards the area where John and his crew usually hung out.

  He couldn't wait to tell John that Adam was still around, still looking pathetic, and apparently still getting into weird situations. John always enjoyed hearing about Adam's continued struggles.

  Meanwhile, Adam walked silently behind the farmer, navigating the crowded sidewalks. The initial relief of securing the farmer's attention was now being replaced by a growing sense of unease as they walked further and further away from the main commercial streets.

  The buildings became older, the shops smaller, the crowds thinner. The farmer hadn't said another word since "Follow me," and his pace was steady, determined, heading towards a part of the city Adam didn't recognize.

  After several minutes of walking in silence, the uncertainty began to gnaw at Adam. Where exactly were they going? Was it safe to just follow a stranger like this, especially one who was clearly desperate? Desperate people sometimes did desperate things. Adam remembered the shopkeeper, Thomas, lunging at him in anger. Could this farmer turn violent if the deal didn't go his way?

  Adam finally decided he couldn't just blindly follow anymore. He needed some reassurance. "Excuse me, sir," he said, pitching his voice to reach the farmer walking ahead. "Where exactly are we going?"

  The farmer glanced back over his shoulder, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, he answered, his voice low and still cautious, but without hostility.

  "To my house. It's not far from here. Just a small room I rent." He paused, then seemed to sense Adam's hesitation. He stopped walking for a second and turned slightly more towards Adam, his eyes meeting Adam's directly.

  "Don't worry, son," he added, his voice softening just a fraction, becoming almost pleading. "I need this money. I need it badly. I promise you, I won't do anything foolish. I just… I need this deal to be real." His gaze held a raw sincerity born of desperation, trying to convey that his need outweighed any ill intent.

  Adam looked into the farmer’s tired, honest eyes. He believed the man was desperate, believed he needed the money. But still, following him to his rented room felt… unwise. Too isolated. Too vulnerable. He quickly weighed his options. He needed this deal too, or at least, he saw immense potential in it. But safety came first.

  "I understand you need the money, sir," Adam said respectfully but firmly. "And I am serious about buying your land. But perhaps… going to your house isn't necessary right now. If you really want to discuss this deal, make it happen, maybe we could talk over a meal? There’s a restaurant nearby. We can sit down, talk properly, figure things out." He hoped the suggestion sounded reasonable, not insulting.

  The farmer paused again, considering Adam's words. He looked down the street towards where he lived, then back at Adam. He seemed to be weighing his own need for privacy against Adam’s discomfort, and perhaps the practicality of discussing business in a neutral location. Finally, he let out another deep sigh, the sound filled with resignation and the accumulated exhaustion of his difficult day.

  "Alright," he agreed softly, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand, as if trying to physically wipe away the stress.

  "Okay. As you wish. A restaurant is fine." With that, he turned, changing direction slightly, and led Adam towards a small, simple roadside restaurant they had just passed, nestled between a tailor shop and a small grocery store.

  The restaurant was nothing fancy, but it felt welcoming. It had an open-air seating area under a covered porch, with simple wooden tables and chairs arranged neatly. Large, colorful umbrellas offered shade, and potted plants placed around the perimeter added a touch of green, softening the edges of the plain setting.

  The air smelled of cooking spices and street dust. The low buzz of conversation from other patrons and the clinking of plates and cutlery created a relaxed, informal atmosphere – a world away from the sterile tension of the property agent's office.

  They found an empty table near the edge, slightly away from the other customers, offering a semblance of privacy while still being in a public space. They sat down opposite each other. The farmer leaned forward almost immediately, resting his rough elbows on the tabletop, his face set in a determined, almost grim expression. The brief detour and Adam’s caution seemed to have focused his resolve.

  "Alright, kid. Let's stop wasting time. Let's get serious," the farmer said, his voice firm again, though still laced with that underlying weariness. His eyes studied Adam's face intently across the table, searching, probing, trying to gauge the young man's true intentions, trying to see past the calm exterior.

  "You say you want to buy my land. Tell me… how exactly do you plan to do that? Where does a young fellow like you get the kind of money needed for land?"

  Adam met his gaze calmly, a small, confident smirk playing on his lips. He wasn't going to get drawn into explaining his resources or his methods. That wasn't the farmer's concern. "How I manage the payment is my business," Adam replied smoothly, his tone polite but firm, deflecting the question.

  "Your concern should be the price. You just tell me what you want for it." He kept his words simple, direct, steering the conversation back to the core of the deal, maintaining control.

  The farmer hesitated for a moment, perhaps slightly taken aback by Adam's directness, but then seemed to decide that Adam was right. The 'how' didn't matter as much as the 'if'. He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts, preparing to lay his cards on the table. He seemed to steel himself, knowing his asking price was high, perhaps impossibly so.

  "Fine. Okay. I'll be straight with you," the farmer said slowly, his voice steady now, choosing his words carefully. "My land… it's ten hectares. Good fertile soil, been in my family for generations. It's located just south of the city limits, near the edge of the Green Valley forest."

  As the farmer mentioned the location – south of the city, near the forest – Adam's mind instantly accessed his own knowledge of the area. He knew exactly where that was. It was beautiful countryside, yes, but miles away from any major roads, industrial zones, or planned city expansion projects.

  It had almost zero commercial development potential. No wonder the agent had dismissed it so quickly. It was precisely the kind of land investors wouldn't touch because it offered no quick return. For Adam, however… that might be different. His plans weren't necessarily conventional.

  The farmer continued, his voice gaining a slight tremor as he got to the crucial part.

  "For my land… for my family's land… I need $500,000. Up front. As an advance." He paused, letting that substantial number hang in the air between them, his eyes watching Adam’s reaction closely.

  Then, he added, his tone more measured but no less firm, "And after the lawyers do their work, after the title deed is officially transferred to your name… I'll take the remaining $1 million."

  One and a half million dollars. Total.

  The figure hit Adam like a physical shock. His calm expression faltered for the first time. His eyes widened slightly, and he felt his breath catch in his throat. $1.5 million?! The number screamed in his mind. He had been expecting something high, maybe, given the farmer's desperation and emotional attachment, but this… this was astronomical!

  Based on the agent's reaction and the land's location, he had mentally braced himself for maybe $150,000, perhaps $200,000 at the absolute most. But $1.5 million? It was far, far beyond anything he had anticipated.

  It was more than ten times what he currently possessed. His pulse quickened, and for a dizzying moment, the sounds of the restaurant seemed to fade, the world shrinking around him.

  He instinctively reached for the glass of water the waiter had placed on the table earlier. His hand felt slightly unsteady as he lifted it. He took a slow sip, the cool liquid doing little to calm the sudden turmoil inside him. He needed a moment to think, to process this staggering demand, to regain his composure.

  The silence at the table stretched, growing heavy, awkward. The farmer, watching Adam’s reaction intently, saw the shock register on the young man’s face. He saw the slight widening of the eyes, the hand reaching for water.

  The farmer’s own fragile hope began to crumble instantly. His face darkened, the lines of worry deepening into lines of bitter disappointment. He misinterpreted Adam's shock not as surprise at the audacity of the price, but as confirmation that the kid simply couldn't afford it, that this whole encounter had been another pointless detour, another cruel flicker of hope destined to be extinguished.

  "Hah," the farmer muttered under his breath, a short, harsh sound devoid of humor. He shook his head slowly, a gesture of self-directed anger and resignation. He looked away from Adam, down at the table again. "I told you already," he mumbled, mostly to himself, his voice low and thick with disappointment. "Asking too much. Always asking too much."

  He didn't wait for Adam to respond. The silence, Adam's obvious shock, was answer enough for him. It was over before it even began. With a weary sigh that seemed to carry the weight of his failed hopes, the farmer started to push his chair back from the table. The legs scraped lightly against the tiled floor.

  He was preparing to stand up, to end this futile conversation, to walk away and face his bleak reality alone once more. The brief, impossible dream of selling his land was already fading.