Imagine this: Julia marches briskly along Oxford Road in London, when suddenly a young woman, costumed as an angel, steps directly into her path. Shes swathed in a flowing ivory dress, wings fashioned from ragged straw-coloured plumes, and a halo made of twisted gold ribbon and wire. The angel thrusts a slip of paper at Julia, who retorts sharply, Im fine, cheers! Not after anything!
Yet the angel persists. Honestly, you need this. Take the voucher, but dont just toss itgive it a proper look. Julia snatches it, mutters a reluctant thanks, sidesteps, and heads for the bus stop.
Mondays always grind people down, but this one feels especially bleak. Everyone hauls themselves from bed, splashes cold water on their faces, squeezes into work attire, and trudges out, wishing for a life of their own instead of counting the days to retirement. The tension is palpable; even the smallest slight could spark an argument, and Julia feels it more than most. She works at a coffee shop opposite the local mill, where crowds surge in for their morning brew before surrendering to another week of monotony.
The morning is a relentless parade of coffee. The grinder roars, pulverising beans, and every contraptioncafetiere, stovetop, podschurns out cup after cup. Customers snatch their drinks, gulp at the counter, and shuffle aside for the next caffeine-starved soul.
Julia slips in the back at 6:55, inhales the rich aroma, dashes upstairs, and shrugs off her coat. In the staff room, she groans at her rumpled uniformno matter what, the morning bus is always packed, and her kit never survives the crush.
Hours drag on, and after the midday rush, the pace slackens, though the biting cold keeps a steady stream of customers. Cover me for fifteen, Mike? Julia pleads with the cook. I need a smoke or Ill lose it, and Ive still got an hour to go.
Mike nods, swaps his chefs whites for the waiters black, and lumbers out front.
Julia throws on her coat and steps outside. Freezing, she mutters, exhaling and searching for her lighter. She perches on a thick timber by the steps, rummages in her pocket, and finds the crumpled voucher.
She pulls out the lighter and the voucher, drops the paper, sparks up, takes a deep drag, and lets the smoke curl away. Glancing down, she notices Voucher stamped on it.
What are these angels peddling now? Julia chuckles, smoothing the paper. Maybe its not complete nonsense?
She squints at the tiny print and bursts out laughing.
By accepting this voucher, youre entitled to a single wish.
To claim, scan the QR code, visit the site, and follow the instructions.
Note: Read the terms before submitting your wish!
Ministry of Sincere Dreams Delivery.
Absolute comedians, Julia scoffs. Still, if it gives someone a laugh, maybe itll brighten a few sour faces.
She stubs out her cigarette, heads back inside, scrubs her hands, dabs on a drop of scented oil from a miniature bottle, rubs her palms, pats her cheeks, and returns to work.
Julia isnt stuck on the late shift; those unlucky ones slog from seven till eleven at night, rotating. She does seven till three, no lunch break, weekends off.
After dropping a tray in the washroom, Julia checks the clock2:54finds Cathy, whos on till eleven, hands over the order book, and goes to change.
Leaving the café, Julia strolls to the bus stop. Maybe Ill pop round Mums, she muses. Nothing pressing at home, and I hardly see her… though, truth be told…
She imagines the cramped room, the bed, and her motherfrail, pale, lying there.
Poor Mum, Julia sighs, pausing to pull out her cigarettes, and again finds the battered voucher with her lighter.
She smooths it out, sees Voucher printed on it, and staresshe was certain shed binned it outside the café.
This is bizarre, Julia thinks, scanning for a bin, but theres nonejust the bus pulling up.
She stuffs the cigarette back in the pack and hurries to the stop.
Settling behind the driver, Julia pulls out her phone, ready to scroll through her feed, but remembers the voucher, smirks, and fishes it out. Seconds later, a webpage appears.
If youre holding this voucher, your wish can be granted! Fill in the form and send it off. Your wish will be granted instantly!
Julia grins and keeps reading.
Important details:
1) Wish must be under 200 characters.
2) No wishes that harm anyone.
3) Wishes must be reasonable! No become Richard Branson, travel to Mars, dine with the King, live forever, become a millionaire (billionaire, famous actor, singer, politician), win (find) a fortune (treasure), etc.these wont be granted!
4) Before you hit submit, double-check your wish and make sure its truly what you want!
Alright then, Julia smiles, lets give it a whirl. Cant ask for a pile of pounds, so whats left?
She spends the whole ride pondering. A better job? But she enjoys her workthe pays modest, but it covers essentials, the hours are fair, she gets free meals, and can take leftovers home. Besides, the grass is always greener, and wherever you go, things get complicated! Good health? Thats a wise wish. Shes healthy, nothing hurts, looks finenot stunning, not a model, but decent. Luck? Lucks a slippery thing… and what does it even mean? If you dont know what you need luck for, whats the point? Meet a prince? At forty-four, the odds are slim, and even if there were enough princes, who needs one? When youre young, you dream of love and a prince in a white Jaguar, but by forty-four, you know betterprinces arent real, and behind the mask is just Dave from the pub, rude and idle!
Julia snaps out of it as the bus stops near her mums, tucks her phone away, and hurries off.
So, how is she? Julia asks, settling at the kitchen table.
Same as always, Mum replies. No change. Doctor says all the tests are fine, just needs a proper massage.
Maybe I should move in? Julia suggests. Help out around the house.
No, Mum retorts. Youve got your own life. Find yourself a man instead. Shes my daughter, and I have to bear this.
You dont have to! Julia protests. She made her choices, and youve spent three years
Enough, Julia! Mum interrupts. I know its her fault, but shes my daughter. I cant send her off to a care home or wherever they put disabled people.
She got behind the wheel drunk, Julia whispers. She killed four people, killed my dad… she
Julia, stop! Mum whispers.
She could live another twenty years, Julia snaps, and caring for her will be the end of you
Go home, Julia, Mum says, rising and leaving the kitchen.
Julias visits always end the same way. Shes sworn a hundred times to keep quiet, but never manages it. Her sister, Linda, lost control three years ago, crashed into a bus stop, killed people waiting there, their dad who was with her, and shattered her spine. Now shell never walk again, and Mum has to care for herbathe her, turn her, lift her into a wheelchair, feed her…
Julia leaves the table, slips on her coat, tiptoes to the bedroom door, and peeks in. Linda sits in her wheelchair, head drooping, eyes fixed on the television.
Murderer, Julia screams silently, and slips out.
Outside, Julia lights a cigarette, finds the voucher again, and, with a sigh, tosses it onto the pavement. She exhales, stares at the paper, pulls out her phone, taps the button, and the wish form appears. Julia quickly types, I wish for Mums deepest wish to come true.
She knows Mums greatest hope is for Linda to recover. Julia herself cant wish for it, but she loves her mum and doesnt want her to spend her remaining years as a carer.
Julia hits submit, pockets her phone, and hurries to the bus stop.
Back on the bus, bag on her lap, her phone vibrates in her pocket.
Hello, Mum, Julia answers.
Lindas gone, Mums voice says, then the call ends.
Julia stares at her phone for a long moment, then the truth dawns.
So thats what you wished for, Julia thinks, but quickly dismisses it as coincidence, pockets her phone, and at the next stop, walks back to her mums.
