The Girl Who Wished to Be Seen

Long ago, in a time when the world still hummed with ancient magic, there lived a girl named Lotus. She carried in her heart a quiet, aching love for a brave hunter—a young man of great skill and strength, who seemed to be admired by all except her.

Lotus watched him from afar, always at a distance, always unnoticed.

One bright afternoon, the hunter returned from the forest with his companions, having secured enough game to feed the entire village for a month. The villagers rushed to greet them, cheering and clapping, forming a celebratory crowd.

Seizing the moment, Lotus stepped forward, her heart trembling with hope. The press of the people around her nudged her closer. She lifted her chin and smiled at the hunter. For a heartbeat, his eyes met hers, and something softened in his expression.

She opened her mouth to speak—but her voice vanished. It caught in her throat like a stone, and her cheeks flushed crimson.

Other young women called his name, their voices light and teasing. He turned to them, returning their smiles, his charm like sunshine. But to Lotus, he offered nothing. Not a smile. Not a glance.

She stretched out her hand, desperate for him to see her—really see her—but was jostled by a passing villager. Tears welled in her eyes. Heart heavy with shame, she turned and pushed through the crowd, fleeing the village. She lifted her skirts and ran, feet pounding the earth, all the way to the edge of the forest.

Only when she reached the familiar grove where the Wishing Tree stood, did she allow the tears to fall.

The moon had risen, full and glowing, casting silver across her sobbing form. She slumped at the base of the tree, letting the cool bark press against her back. This ancient tree had been her place of comfort, the keeper of her hopes. She had whispered so many dreams beneath its branches, tied small bundles of herbs and charms to its limbs, offered potions and water to its roots—all in the hope that one wish might be granted.

Just one.

But never this one.

In frustration, Lotus kicked at one of the tree’s gnarled roots.

“You really shouldn’t do that,” said a voice, as soft as the breeze yet sharp as a thorn.

She whirled around, eyes wide. No one was there. Only the shadows and the rustling leaves.

“Who’s there?” she called, staring into the underbrush. “Show yourself!”

“A friend,” came the voice again. “One who has seen you visit this tree many times. You’ve always been kind and reverent. Why strike it now?”

“It’s never granted the wish I care about most,” Lotus muttered. “Who are you?”

“You may call me Coll,” the voice replied. “I’m not from your village. But I have watched you.”

Lotus frowned. “Well, Coll, I’d prefer to be alone.”

“What is the wish you’ve made that was not fulfilled?”

She hesitated. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Perhaps I can help.”

“I doubt it.” Her voice cracked. “He doesn’t even know I exist. I live five houses away and he still hasn’t looked at me. I’ve loved him since I was ten summers old, and it’s like I’m invisible.”

Coll was quiet for a long moment. “Unrequited love,” he murmured. “A painful thing. You know, love spells never end well.”

“I didn’t wish for him to fall in love with me,” Lotus snapped. “I wished for him to notice me. To look at me, smile, say hello—anything.”

“That still affects his will,” Coll said gently. “Even the smallest wish that bends another’s choice may be too much.”

Her breath caught. She had never thought of it that way. She sank to the forest floor, the realization stinging like cold rain.

“Oh no,” she whispered. “All these years… have I been hurting him? Manipulating him? No wonder he avoids me.”

Her eyes filled again, not with heartbreak, but guilt.

Coll’s voice drew closer. “There may still be a way. Magic, when used with self-awareness, can bring about change—so long as the wish affects only the one making it.”

Lotus mulled his words. She thought back to her past wishes. Almost every time, she had asked for the hunter to look at her, see her, love her. But now she understood: perhaps the wish had to start within.

“I need to become someone he can see,” she said aloud. “Something beautiful. Something unforgettable—but without disturbing his will.”

She stood slowly and turned to the tree. “I have to make this right.”

For a week, Lotus returned each day to the Wishing Tree. She brought herbal tea and gently rubbed scented oils into the place where she had kicked its root. She whispered apologies, climbed its limbs, and offered it sweet fruit and fragrant flowers.

At last, she climbed to its highest branch and tied a fresh pouch of offerings—wild rosemary, moonflower petals, and a strand of her hair.

She closed her eyes and spoke softly:

“Wishing Tree, I ask not to change another’s heart, but only myself.
Make me worthy of his attention.
Let me become beautiful, radiant, and gentle.
Let me be seen—not to control his will, but to dwell where his eyes cannot help but fall.
Please, change only me.”

After climbing down, she called softly, “Coll? Are you here?”

“I am,” the voice answered.

“Do you think it will work?”

“I believe it can. Are you sure this is what you want?”

“I’ve thought about it,” she said. “And yes, I’m sure.”

That night, Lotus fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When the sun rose, she awoke with a strange sense of clarity. She felt lighter, more graceful, as if her body had shed invisible burdens. Every leaf shimmered with color, every breeze brushed her skin like silk. The world was suddenly vibrant.

Drawn by instinct, she walked to the Wishing Tree.

The bundle was gone.

A thrill ran through her.

She looked down at her hands—only they weren’t hands. Her skin was now fur, light brown and glistening. Her fingers had become hooves. Panic rose in her chest.

She tried to cry out, but only a sharp, grunted noise escaped.

She was no longer a girl.

She was a deer.

She turned and ran, legs sleek and fast, dodging branches with a grace she never had before. But her mind reeled.

What had she done?

Had she asked to become desirable? Unmissable? She had become something seen—but at the cost of her humanity.

Somewhere behind her, a figure stepped out from the shadows. A boy not quite human, not quite spirit.

“I warned her,” Coll murmured to the wind. “Some wishes do come true.”

Moral of the Story:

Be careful what you wish for—especially when your heart seeks change in others. True transformation begins within, but desire can blind us to the cost of what we ask.