The chipped porcelain of the mug warmed Elara’s palms, the lukewarm tea doing little for the knot in her stomach. Rain lashed against the coffee shop window, blurring the neon glow of the city. She tapped the screen of her tablet, the app icon—a stylized pencil—mocking her anxiety. *WishSketch*. It hadn’t felt like a big deal at first, just a quirky download. Now? Now it felt like holding a live wire.
She swiped open the app. A blank canvas blinked back.
“Seriously?” Leo’s voice cut through her thoughts. He slid into the chair opposite her, shaking rain from his worn canvas jacket. “Still fiddling with that thing? The festival’s tomorrow.”
Elara didn’t meet his eyes. Instead, she focused on a stray drop of water tracing a path down the glass. “Just…experimenting.”
“Experimenting with magic?” Leo raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement dancing in the crinkles around his eyes. “You know that app is a glitch, right? Some coding error gone viral?”
“Maybe.” She traced the edge of her screen. “Or maybe it actually *works*.”
“And you’ve been… testing it on what? Shoe sketches?”
Elara flinched. That first sketch, a quick rendering of the worn leather boots she’d noticed beside her at the life drawing class—the same class where she first saw *him*—had been a fluke. A harmless curiosity. Then, a week later, she’d bumped into Kai, the sculptor, wearing boots exactly like the ones she’d drawn. It hadn’t registered immediately. But then came the scarf, the specific shade of crimson she’d absentmindedly layered into her second sketch. Kai showed up the next day sporting the exact same scarf.
“It’s complicated.”
“Try me.”
“Okay, look.” Elara took a deep breath. “I drew his shoes. The next day, Kai showed up wearing them. Then, I drew a scarf, and guess what he was wearing the *next* day?”
Leo stared, mouth slightly open.
“You’re telling me this app…manifests things?”
“I think so.” She scrolled through her gallery, a collection of quick, almost frantic sketches. A chipped mug, a specific brand of paint, the peculiar curve of a streetlamp. Each appeared in the life of her crush, Julian Vance, within twenty-four hours. Julian, the infuriatingly talented, effortlessly cool painter who occupied every waking thought.
“And you haven’t, like, drawn him a winning lottery ticket yet?” Leo asked, a grin tugging at his lips.
“It doesn’t work like that.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“No! It’s subtle. Small things. Things he’d already have, just… accelerated into existence. It’s like… nudging fate.”
“Right.” Leo’s grin faded. “And the City Art Festival competition is tomorrow. Julian’s the favorite. You’re… competing against him.”
“It’s not about winning,” Elara mumbled, but her stomach twisted. She’d spent months on her piece, a mixed-media installation that pulsed with raw emotion. But up against Julian’s polished perfection? She didn’t stand a chance.
“Doesn’t seem to matter, anyway, if his work steals the stage entirely.” She paused, tapping the screen again. “Unless… my spell alters the circumstance.”
“So, you’re thinking about… rigging the competition?”
“I’m thinking about leveling the playing field.”
“That’s…a choice.” Leo leaned back, studying her. “And something about stakes. If it’s done now, can do again, right?”
Elara frowned. “Exactly.” She hadn’t voiced that fear. Each successful “wish” felt less like a happy accident and more like a debt accruing. She hadn’t considered the implications of repeatedly bending reality to her will.
“Look,” she said, her voice tight, “I’m not going to draw him a winning painting. I just… I need to understand how this app works. What the limits are.”
“And if understanding means a little…artistic interference?” Leo raised his eyebrows again.
Elara swallowed. “Maybe.”
A flash of lightning illuminated the coffee shop, casting long shadows on the walls. The rain hammered against the glass, a frantic rhythm mirroring the beat of her heart. She opened a new canvas on *WishSketch*. This time, the subject wasn’t an object. It was a feeling. A flicker of self-doubt, a moment of hesitation. A tiny crack in Julian Vance’s carefully constructed confidence. She started to sketch. A shadow of a tremor in his hand.
