Anne Waters had always felt like the invisible thread in the grand tapestry of her high school. A wiry, shy girl with unruly auburn hair and glasses that magnified her hazel eyes, she had perfected the art of blending in. Every day, she followed a carefully crafted routine that revolved around minimizing attention—except when it came to Daniel Carter.
It started with the bus ride. Anne always sat in the third row from the back, just far enough to catch Daniel's reflection in the smudged bus window as he laughed and joked with his friends in the last row. He was everything she wasn't: tall, confident, and the captain of the football team. His golden blond hair seemed to defy gravity, and his effortless grin made Anne's heart stutter in a way she knew was hopelessly clichéd.
Once at school, she drifted through her classes unnoticed, an expert at avoiding confrontation and keeping her head down. Lunchtime was her least favorite part of the day. She sat alone in the far corner of the cafeteria, picking at her peanut butter sandwich while enduring the snickers and whispered insults from Brittany and her clique at the adjacent table.
"Nice sweater, Anne," Brittany sneered one day, her voice dripping with mockery. "Did you knit it yourself?"
Anne didn't respond. She knew better than to engage. Instead, she stared at the orange juice carton in front of her, willing the lunch period to end.
Her evenings were no better. Homework kept her busy,
But life had a way of surprising even the most resigned of souls.
On the night of her 18th birthday, Anne sat alone in her dimly lit bedroom. Her parents had given her a small cake before retreating to their separate corners of the house, leaving her to blow out the candles in solitude. She hesitated for a moment, thinking about what to wish for. Her heart whispered Daniel's name, but she shook her head, embarrassed even in her own mind.
"I wish my life was different," she murmured, blowing out the candles.
The lights flickered. The air in her room grew strangely charged, like the moments before a thunderstorm. Anne sat up, alarmed, as a faint golden mist began to swirl in the corner of her room. The mist coalesced into a figure—a man, no taller than Anne herself, with sharp features, a dark goatee, and an outfit that looked like it belonged in an old Arabian tale.
"Finally!" he exclaimed, stretching his arms. "Eighteen years in that lamp—do you know how cramped it is in there?"
Anne stared, her mouth agape. "W-what?"
The man smirked, crossing his arms. "Name's Zahir. I'm a genie. Your genie, to be exact. And I'm here to make your birthday unforgettable."
Anne blinked, her mind racing to catch up. "A genie? Like...three wishes and all that?"
"That's the gist of it," Zahir said, inspecting his fingernails. "Though, between us, the three-wish rule is more of a guideline. But hey, we can get into the details later. What's the first order of business, boss?"
Anne opened her mouth to respond but faltered. This couldn't be real. People like her didn't get magical genies. They got algebra homework and cafeteria ridicule.
"Come on," Zahir urged, snapping his fingers. "You've got a life to change. What's it gonna be?"
Anne glanced at the darkened window, her reflection staring back at her with a mixture of awe and disbelief. For the first time in years, she felt a flicker of something she'd nearly forgotten: hope.
"I'll have to think about it," she whispered, a smile forming on her lips.
The genie shrugged, leaning back in midair as if reclining on an invisible couch. "Take your time. But let me tell you, kid—things are about to get interesting."
And for the first time in her eighteen years, Anne believed him.