I found the box in a small thrift shop. The wood felt smooth, warm in my hands. On the lid, a crescent moon was carved, faint but detailed. Inside, there was a note. Its words were strange, almost alive. The shopkeeper smiled. "Three wishes," she said. "Be careful." I didn’t laugh. Something about her felt wrong. For the first wish, I asked for rain. Within an hour, the sky turned gray. It rained for three days. The second wish came quickly. I asked for money. The next morning, I got a letter. An uncle I’d never met had died. His fortune was mine. But guilt followed. I dreamed of his empty house, his lonely end. The third wish wasn’t planned. I held off as long as I could. But one night, I gave in. "I wish for love," I whispered. The changes were small at first. Old friends called. Strangers smiled at me. Then Anna appeared. She was perfect—too perfect. She knew my thoughts, finished my sentences. At first, I was happy. But soon, it felt wrong. One night, ...