“Fifty dollars for a box of matches?” Sarah’s voice trembled as she held the ornate wooden box. The antique shop’s dim lighting caught the gold inlay, creating dancing shadows across her face.

“Each match grants a wish,” the shopkeeper’s words floated through the musty air like incense. “But remember, dear - the price of desire is steep.”

Memories crashed through Sarah’s mind like waves against rocks. David’s laugh. Their first kiss. The sound of his car driving away. Never returning.

A game, she thought. Life is just a game of chance. Strike a match, make a wish, watch it burn.

She placed the money on the counter, her fingers lingering on the worn bills. The shopkeeper’s knowing smile made her stomach twist.

At home, Sarah sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor. The match box felt heavy in her hands, weighted with possibility. “What’s the worst that could happen?” she whispered to the empty room.

Strike.

“I wish David would call.”

The flame danced, then died. Her phone remained silent.

Strike.

“I wish I could forget him.”

The memories remained, sharp as ever.

Strike.

“I wish…”

Her voice trailed off as she realized the game she was playing. Each match represented a desperate attempt to control the uncontrollable.

“Having fun?” The shopkeeper’s voice startled her. But when Sarah turned, the room was empty.

The matches dwindled. Three left. Two. One.

Sarah held the final match between trembling fingers. Through her window, she watched people passing below - each carrying their own boxes of expensive matches, their own desperate wishes.

“I wish…” she began, then stopped.

The untouched match went back into the box.

Some games, she realized, are best left unplayed. Some wishes are better as possibilities than burnt-out realities.

Years later, a young woman would enter an antique shop and find a beautiful box with gold inlay. Inside, a single match would wait, unburned, carrying the weight of an unspoken wish.

“Fifty dollars,” the shopkeeper would say, her smile knowing. “Each match grants a wish.”

And somewhere across the city, Sarah would feel a familiar tremor in her fingers, remembering the game she chose not to finish - the wish she chose not to make.

Because sometimes, the most powerful magic lies not in what we do, but in what we choose to leave undone.