Tales from the Universe
Moral Dilemma: If you could remove every hardship from the life of someone you love, would doing so be an act of compassion—or would you also remove experiences they need the freedom to survive, understand, and grow from themselves?
Asha’s first wish was for soup.
This is important because later people made the story much more dramatic.
They said she wished for beauty.
Power.
Immortality.
A kingdom.
People prefer cautionary tales when the person being cautioned begins with obvious greed.
Asha wanted soup.
She was hungry.
The woman at the roadside shrine looked asleep.
Asha almost walked past.
Then the woman said:
“Coin?”
Asha stopped.
“I only have two.”
“Then keep them.”
The woman opened one eye.
“Food?”
“No.”
“Water?”
“Yes.”
Asha handed her the flask.
The woman drank.
Then returned it.
“Wish?”
Asha laughed.
“What?”
“You gave water.”
“Yes.”
“I give wish.”
“That’s not a fair exchange.”
“Neither is thirst.”
Asha liked her immediately.
She assumed it was a joke.
So she said:
“I wish I had a bowl of hot onion soup.”
The woman snapped her fingers.
A bowl appeared.
Asha dropped the flask.
The soup smelled incredible.
She stared.
The woman closed her eyes again.
“Next.”
“Next what?”
“Person.”
“I get one wish?”
“Yes.”
Asha looked at the soup.
Then at the woman.
“I used magic on lunch?”
“Yes.”
“Can I take it back?”
“No.”
Asha sat beside the road and ate.
It was excellent.
She told nobody.
For three years, the story remained merely strange.
Then Asha found the woman again.
Same road.
Same shrine.
Same position.
“Coin?”
Asha stopped.
“You.”
The woman opened one eye.
“Water?”
“You gave me a wish.”
“Did I?”
“I wished for soup.”
“Good choice.”
“It was not.”
“Was soup good?”
“Very.”
“Then good choice.”
Asha gave her water.
The woman drank.
“Wish?”
Asha stared.
“Again?”
“Again.”
This time Asha was ready.
She had a daughter.
Lina.
Seven years old.
Beautiful.
Funny.
Stubborn.
Frequently bruised.
Recently ill.
Nothing terrible.
A fever that had lasted several days.
The physician said she would recover.
Probably.
Asha hated the word.
She looked at the old woman.
“I wish my daughter would never suffer.”
The woman’s expression changed.
For the first time, she looked fully awake.
“Different wish.”
“Yes.”
“Certain?”
Asha thought of Lina sweating in bed.
“Yes.”
The woman snapped her fingers.
The fever disappeared before Asha reached home.
Lina was outside chasing chickens.
“Mama!”
Asha dropped to her knees and held her.
Cool skin.
Bright eyes.
No fever.
Asha cried.
The wish was real.
It had worked.
For several months, nothing seemed wrong.
Then Lina fell from a tree.
Asha screamed.
Lina stood.
No broken bones.
No bruises.
Not even pain.
Miracle.
Then Lina climbed higher.
“Come down.”
“Why?”
“You could fall.”
“I already did.”
“Lina.”
“It didn’t hurt.”
Asha felt the first thread of fear.
A boy insulted Lina at school.
The next morning he apologized.
Not because anyone asked him.
He simply became overwhelmed with guilt.
He cried for hours.
Another girl excluded Lina from a game.
That evening, the girl became so lonely she begged Lina to forgive her.
A teacher gave Lina a poor mark.
The ink vanished from the page.
The correct answers appeared beneath it.
Asha stared at the paper.
The wish was working.
Perfectly.
Lina stopped failing.
Then stopped losing.
Then stopped being rejected.
If she wanted friendship, people liked her.
If she entered a contest, circumstances shifted.
If she forgot homework, somehow the assignment was canceled.
When her dog died, Lina cried for ten minutes.
Then the dog walked through the door.
Asha screamed.
Lina hugged it.
The dog was warm.
Alive.
Wrong.
Asha returned to the shrine.
Empty.
She waited.
Nothing.
For three days.
Nothing.
She went home.
Lina grew.
At fourteen, she was unbearable.
Not cruel.
That would have been easier.
She simply could not understand why anyone tolerated discomfort.
Her friend Mara was rejected by a boy.
“Ask someone else.”
Mara cried.
Lina became irritated.
“Why are you doing that?”
“Because it hurts.”
“Then stop.”
“I can’t.”
“Of course you can.”
Mara stared at her.
“No, Lina.”
That friendship ended.
Lina did not understand why.
A new friend appeared within a week.
The wish provided.
Asha tried creating difficulty.
She gave Lina chores.
Tools broke before Lina became tired.
She withheld spending money.
Lina found coins.
She refused permission to attend a festival.
The festival was postponed until the day Asha relented.
Reality itself behaved like an indulgent parent.
Asha began to hate what she had done.
When Lina was nineteen, she fell in love.
His name was Tor.
He did not love her.
At first, Asha was relieved.
Finally.
Something real.
Lina cried.
Asha held her.
“This hurts.”
“I know.”
“Make it stop.”
Asha froze.
“What?”
“You always make things better.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I can’t.”
Lina pulled away.
“Then what good are you?”
The words struck.
Asha almost became angry.
Then she saw the terror underneath them.
Lina had never learned what to do with pain.
Not once.
Asha had wished away the lessons.
Three days later, Tor arrived.
Flowers in hand.
“I’ve been thinking.”
Asha’s stomach turned.
Lina ran to him.
He smiled.
“I think I love you.”
Asha saw his eyes.
Confused.
Almost frightened.
The wish had reached inside another person.
“No.”
Asha stepped between them.
Lina stared.
“What are you doing?”
Asha looked at Tor.
“Leave.”
“I came to see Lina.”
“I know.”
“Mother!”
“Leave.”
Tor left.
Lina screamed at her.
“You ruined everything!”
“No.”
“He loves me!”
“No.”
“You don’t know that!”
Asha’s voice broke.
“Neither does he.”
Lina slapped her.
Then froze.
Asha’s cheek burned.
For one astonishing second, both women stared.
Lina had caused suffering.
The wish allowed it.
Because Asha had wished only that Lina never suffer.
Not everyone else.
Asha began laughing.
Lina backed away.
“What is wrong with you?”
“Everything.”
Asha laughed harder.
Then cried.
“I made a terrible mistake.”
She told Lina about the shrine.
The woman.
The wish.
Everything.
Lina listened.
At first she didn’t believe her.
Then she remembered.
Every impossible escape.
Every convenient victory.
Every person who seemed to change when she needed them to.
Her face emptied.
“My life isn’t mine.”
Asha’s heart broke.
“Yes, it is.”
“No.”
“Lina—”
“How much of it?”
Asha had no answer.
They searched for the old woman together.
Months.
Then years.
They traveled hundreds of miles.
Nothing.
For the first time in Lina’s life, something she wanted refused to arrive.
That was how they knew the wish might be weakening.
They found the woman beside a different road.
Older.
Or perhaps exactly the same.
“Water?”
Lina threw the flask at her.
The woman caught it.
“Rude.”
“Take it back.”
“What?”
“The wish.”
The woman looked at Asha.
“Oh.”
“You knew,” Asha said.
“I warned.”
“You said ‘different wish.’”
“Yes.”
“That is not a warning.”
The woman considered.
“Fair.”
“Can you undo it?”
Lina asked.
“Yes.”
Asha almost collapsed.
“Do it.”
The woman looked at Lina.
“Her wish.”
Asha stared.
“What?”
“It belongs to her now.”
Lina swallowed.
“What happens if you remove it?”
“You suffer.”
“I understand.”
“No.”
The old woman shook her head.
“You don’t.”
She pointed down the road.
“You may become sick.”
Lina nodded.
“People you love may leave.”
Nod.
“You may fail while trying your hardest.”
Nod.
“You may love someone who does not love you.”
Lina’s eyes watered.
“People will die.”
Asha grabbed her daughter’s hand.
The woman continued.
“You will make mistakes that cannot be repaired.”
Lina began crying.
“You may be lonely.”
“Stop,” Asha whispered.
“You may become frightened.”
“Stop.”
“You may regret this wish.”
Asha stepped forward.
“I said stop.”
Lina squeezed her hand.
“No.”
Asha looked at her.
Lina was shaking.
“Keep going.”
The woman looked at Lina.
“You will eventually die.”
Silence.
Lina wiped her face.
Then asked:
“Will any of it be mine?”
The old woman smiled.
“All of it.”
Lina nodded.
“Take it away.”
Asha whispered:
“No.”
Lina turned.
“Mama.”
“I can’t let you.”
“You already chose once.”
Asha stopped.
Lina held her mother’s hands.
“Please don’t choose again.”
Asha let go.
The woman snapped her fingers.
Nothing happened.
That seemed appropriate.
On the journey home, Lina developed a blister.
She complained about it for six miles.
Asha had never been so happy to hear complaining.
Then it became infected.
A physician treated it.
For three days, Asha barely slept.
Lina recovered.
No miracle.
Medicine.
Rest.
Luck.
Enough.
Years passed.
Lina married.
Not Tor.
A woman named Eren who argued with her constantly and loved her without enchantment.
They lost a pregnancy.
Lina suffered terribly.
Asha sat beside her.
Every part of Asha wanted the old wish back.
Every part.
She said nothing.
She held her daughter.
That was all she could do.
It felt unbearably small.
It was also real.
Later came other things.
A successful business.
A failed business.
Another successful one.
Friendships.
Arguments.
Illness.
Travel.
A son.
Grey hair.
Funerals.
Birthdays.
Ordinary disasters.
Ordinary miracles.
A life.
When Asha was very old, Lina sat beside her bed.
“Do you regret it?”
“The wish?”
“Yes.”
Asha thought.
“The second one.”
Lina smiled.
“Obviously.”
“No.”
Lina looked surprised.
Asha continued.
“I regret making it.”
She touched her daughter’s face.
“And I am grateful I lived long enough to understand why.”
Lina stayed until she fell asleep.
Asha died during the night.
No magic stopped it.
In the morning, Lina discovered her.
She screamed.
She cried until her chest hurt.
She wanted her mother back with a desperation so complete that for several minutes she would have traded almost anything.
Then she remembered the dog.
Walking through the door.
Warm.
Alive.
Wrong.
Lina held her mother’s hand.
It slowly became cold.
She did not ask the world to change.
She simply remained there.
Suffering.
Loving her.
Both were allowed.
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