I Wish...

The First Steps of Change

The next morning, I awoke to a world that felt oddly quieter. For the first time in years, I didn't start the day by wishing for something. No extravagant plans, no luxurious desires. The decision to abandon my lifelong habit left me feeling both free and uneasy. Could I really do this? Could I truly live without relying on my wishes?

I pulled myself out of bed and looked around my apartment. Everything in it had been a product of a wish. The sleek furniture, the designer clothes in the closet, even the art on the walls. It felt like I was living in a museum of my past desires—beautiful, but cold and impersonal.

Taking Ethel's advice, I knew the first step was to reconnect with people, starting with Jenna. We hadn't spoken in months, and the last time we did, it ended in awkward silence, both of us unsure of how to bridge the growing gap between us. I pulled out my phone and typed a simple text.

"Hey Jenna, can we talk again? I owe you an apology. A real one."

The minutes that followed felt endless, but finally, her response came through. "Sure, let's meet at the park later today."

Relief and nervousness washed over me. This was it. My first real step into a world without the safety net of wishes. I wasn't sure how it would go, but I knew I had to try.

Later that afternoon, I arrived at the park and spotted Jenna sitting on a bench, her eyes scanning the horizon. She looked calm, but I could sense a hint of hesitation in her posture. As I approached, I waved and offered a tentative smile.

"Hey," I said, sitting down next to her.

"Hey," Jenna replied, her voice soft but guarded. "It's been a while."

I nodded, taking a deep breath. "I know, and that's my fault. I was so caught up in my own world that I pushed everyone away, including you. I'm sorry."

Jenna shifted slightly, glancing at me. "I noticed. It felt like... you had everything handed to you, and I didn't know how to relate to that. It made me feel... distant."

"I understand. Honestly, I didn't even realize it at the time. I just kept wishing for things, thinking it would solve all my problems, but it didn't. It made things worse."

There was a brief silence between us, the air thick with unsaid words.

"But things are different now," I continued. "I'm done with wishing. I've learned that none of it matters if I don't work for what I want. I don't want to lose our friendship because of my mistakes."

Jenna's expression softened, and she let out a small sigh. "I can see you've changed. And I appreciate you reaching out, Samara. It means a lot."

I smiled, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders. "Thank you. I'm going to work hard to be a better friend. No more shortcuts."

We spent the next hour talking, catching up on everything we had missed. It wasn't a magical fix, but it was a start. And for the first time in a long time, I felt grounded. The kind of connection I had been missing was beginning to return.

As I walked back to my apartment later that evening, I realized that this was only the beginning. Rebuilding my relationships, working hard for my goals—these were things that would take time. But for once, I wasn't in a rush. I wasn't wishing for quick fixes or instant gratification.

I sat down at my desk, opening my laptop. Volunteering was the next step. I found a local community center in need of help with organizing events and signed up for their next meeting. It felt strange, this sense of purpose that didn't stem from a wish, but from a genuine desire to contribute.

As I clicked the confirmation button, a thought crossed my mind. What if I wasn't just restoring what I had lost, but building something entirely new, something more real than any wish could ever give me?