Wish upon you

The storm arrived before I could finish the last box.

Thunder tore the sky apart like something alive, rattling the glass of my apartment windows. I flinched, nearly dropping the photo frame in my hands. The power flickered once..twice and then the whole room plunged into darkness.

“Perfect,” I muttered to no one.

The air turned thick and wet. I rushed to the window, trying to shove it closed before the rain soaked the carpet. The wind clawed at the curtains, cold and wild, lashing against my face like needles. When I finally managed to slam the window shut, my fingers were trembling.

For a moment, I just stood there breathing. The city below was a smear of lights and moving shadows. Raindrops streaked the glass like tears that refused to fall straight. I told myself it was just another storm. Just another night. Just another excuse to avoid opening those boxes.

But the silence that followed the thunder felt different tonight. Heavy. Waiting.

The only light left came from the single candle I’d lit earlier. It sat beside the unpacked boxes ones I hadn’t touched since my mother’s funeral six months ago.

Six months.And I still couldn’t bring myself to throw away her things.

Each box was a museum of what used to be: faded perfumes, half-written letters, the broken chain of a watch I’d promised to fix.

I told myself I’d sort them “when I was ready.”But I was starting to realize that “ready” wasn’t a day that ever came.

Another clap of thunder shook the walls. One of the stacked boxes wobbled and crashed to the floor, spilling its contents in a rain of papers and trinkets.

I sighed. “Of course.”

Kneeling, I began to gather the scattered things photo albums, a silk scarf, brittle sheets of music my mother used to hum while cooking. Then my hand brushed against something cold. Not just cold icy, like metal left outside in winter.

I froze.

The object was small. Wrapped in a piece of old silk, knotted loosely with a gold ribbon that had lost most of its shine. I frowned. I didn’t remember packing this.

Curiosity whispered before caution could speak.

I untied the ribbon. The knot fell away with a soft, deliberate sound like a lock being opened. The air around me seemed to still, as if even the storm was listening.

Inside the silk was a small wooden box dark, smooth, and carved with patterns I didn’t recognize. It didn’t look like anything my mother owned. It looked... ancient.

Lightning flashed, throwing the carvings into relief swirls that looked almost like eyes.

For a split second, I thought one of them blinked.

I shook my head. “You’re tired, Yuna. Just tired.”

But my fingers didn’t stop. Curiosity always wins with me. I flipped the latch open.

Click.

The box opened on its own, slow and deliberate.

Nestled inside was a pendant , glass, oval, and delicate, filled with swirling silver mist that moved like smoke underwater. The light from the candle made it shimmer faintly, like it had its own heartbeat.

It was beautiful. And wrong.

When I tilted it, the mist shifted forming what looked like a star, then melting back into motionless fog. The longer I stared, the more it felt like the pendant was... watching me.

“What are you?” I whispered.

The candle flickered violently, then steadied.

I froze.

A whisper brushed past my ear. Soft. Male. Deep enough to sink into my bones.

“Make a wish.”

I turned so fast my neck cracked. No one was there.

My apartment was empty. Just rain and darkness and my heartbeat thundering in my ears.

“Okay, no. No, no. You’re officially going insane,” I said under my breath.

I set the pendant down. My hands shook, but I forced a laugh. “Talking jewelry. Great. Just what I needed.”

Then the whisper came again clearer this time. Closer.

“Say it.”

My pulse stuttered. “Say what?”

“Your wish.”

Every instinct screamed at me to throw it away, to run, to call someone but who? Who do you call when jewelry starts talking?

I took a shaky breath. Maybe I was losing it. Maybe grief was finally catching up with me.

Still, something deep inside me stirred a dangerous, childish hope I hadn’t felt in years.

“Fine,” I whispered. “I wish this storm would stop.”

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then everything stopped.

Literally.

The rain froze midair droplets suspended like crystal beads. The thunder cut off mid-growl. Even the flame of the candle froze, stretched upward like it had been carved in glass.

The silence was total. My breath was the only sound left in the world.

“What the hell…” I whispered.

I stumbled to the window. Outside, cars were still. Trees didn’t move. The world was frozen like someone had pressed pause on reality.

My reflection stared back at me, wide-eyed, pale, terrified.

Then something behind me moved.

The pendant was floating above my palm, spinning slowly. The silver mist inside had turned white-hot, glowing like a miniature star.

“Stop!” I shouted, covering my eyes.

Light exploded across the room brighter than lightning, sharper than glass. The sound that followed was like something breaking and being born all at once.

When the light dimmed, I wasn’t alone.

A man lay crumpled on the floor where the pendant had hovered moments ago. His clothes shimmered between black and deep indigo, soaked with something that looked like rain but wasn’t. His skin was pale, smooth, and faintly luminescent.

He wasn’t breathing.

I hesitated, fear warring with curiosity. I stepped closer.

“Hey…” My voice was barely a whisper. “Are you...alive?”

His eyes snapped open.

I stumbled backward, hitting the wall. His irises were gold molten, shifting, alive. The candle flame bent toward him, pulled by an invisible force.

He inhaled sharply, the sound like air being dragged through centuries.

“Stay away!” I said, my voice shaking.

He didn’t move. He looked around the room, gaze slow, curious, as if he hadn’t seen the world in a very long time. Then his eyes found me and everything in me stilled.

There was power in that look. Not human power. Something older. Wilder.

“This world…” he murmured, voice low and echoing. “It still stands.”

I swallowed hard. “Who are you?”

He tilted his head slightly, like he had to remember how speech worked.

“Who I am does not matter.”

“Then what does?”

He gestured toward the shattered remains of the pendant on the floor.

“You spoke the words.”

“What words?”

“Your wish.”

His voice wrapped around the room like smoke. He looked at his hands, turning them over, studying the veins glowing faintly with silver light.

“A thousand years,” he said, almost to himself.

“And it had to be you.”

My stomach flipped. “What does that even mean?”

He looked at me then, truly looked. Something unreadable passed through his eyes, a flicker of recognition, maybe pain.

“It means,” he said quietly, “the seal is broken.”

The lights flickered. For an instant, his reflection in the window behind him vanished. My blood ran cold.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered.

I spun around. He was gone.

The room was empty again, except for the pendant, now whole, glowing faintly on the floor.

The storm outside unfroze. The rain fell again, soft and steady, as if nothing had happened.

I pressed my hand to my chest, trying to slow my heartbeat. “This isn’t real,” I whispered. “It can’t be real.”

But as I picked up the pendant, a whisper brushed through my thoughts inside my head this time, not my ears.

Three wishes, Yuna Seo. Choose them wisely.

My breath caught. “How...how do you know my name?”

Silence. Then a pulse, one slow, deliberate heartbeat from the pendant itself.

And I knew whatever this was, it wasn’t over.

The Next Morning

I didn’t sleep. Every sound felt amplified, the hum of the fridge, the dripping of rain, the occasional creak of the apartment walls. Each one pulled me closer to believing last night wasn’t just a hallucination.

When dawn came, the storm was gone. The city outside was washed clean, glittering. I tried to tell myself it had all been a dream.

Then I saw it.

The pendant..gone from the nightstand.

My chest tightened. I tore the sheets apart, checked under the bed, in the drawers, even the box it came from.

Nothing.

And then, coffee. I smelled coffee.

I froze.

Slowly, I turned toward the kitchen.

A man sat on my couch, legs crossed, a steaming mug in his hand. Dark hair fell across his eyes. Gold eyes.

He looked perfectly at home.

“Good morning,” he said, smiling faintly. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I couldn’t breathe. Because maybe I had.

For a full three seconds, I forgot how to breathe.

He looked unreal in daylight. The soft gold in his eyes wasn’t a trick of the candle anymore , it was real, alive, shimmering with something that didn’t belong in this world.

And he was drinking my coffee.

My voice came out hoarse. “Who...how did you...what are you doing in my apartment?”

He raised the mug like a toast. “You ran out of sugar.”

I blinked. “What?”

He gestured toward the counter, completely calm. “You keep it in a jar labeled salt. Very misleading.”

“Stop...” I cut him off, pressing my back against the wall. “Don’t move.”

He tilted his head, amused. “Would you prefer I vanish again?”

Every nerve in me screamed yes. But curiosity that cursed, reckless part of me , whispered no.

“Explain,” I demanded. “Now.”

He set the mug down carefully, as if it were made of glass. “You made a wish. The storm stopped. I wo