Her Magic

“I have a secret,” she whispered to him. “And I’ll tell you, since you are going to forget them, anyway.” Darkness masked the heartbreak in her voice.

Once upon a time, there was a couple in love. The woman had a secret, and the man had nothing to hide. They lived for years and years in happiness. But while the man believed in happily ever after, the woman knew that nothing would last forever.

They built a lovely little house near a lake, just a hundred meters away from the forest surrounding their village. The man walked for an hour every morning to the village market, trying to get some spice and other food ingredients. The woman planted vegetables and fruits, aware that they had less than enough money to survive on their own.

But they lived comfortably from season to season, because she had a secret.

So here it is.

She was a witch.

She held the power of nature and weather, sprinkling magic to make the plants grow healthier and quicker. She blew strength and swiftness into the man she loved, so that he could help around the market and earn enough money. And on the days he couldn’t earn enough, she sang to the birds to show him where the wild berries were on his way home.

People didn’t believe in witches. But they believed in miracles as long as it was a fortunate thing to them. The man was the same. He ignored the way their garden flourished, the way his wife stayed ageless, and the way they never got hungry, even during the harshest of winters.

He ignored, but not by choice.

Because once upon a time she told him the truth and made him forget it.

Because on another once upon a time, he rediscovered the truth, and she realized he continued to forget it.

Repeatedly.

In the year ten of their marriage, she realized that her magic had taken hold too deep and the man she loved had ceased to exist.

Some nights, he called her by the wrong name. Other nights, false memories came to cloak him. Some nights, he told her he had loved no one before. Other nights, he thought tomorrow was once again their wedding day.

Nature knew how to be reborn. How to begin from scratch again. How to erase something that has happened.

But they never truly disappeared.

So did her magic.

Some nights she would just smile and flicked her finger, observing the way recognition setting in her husband’s eyes. Other nights, she would take his hands and tell him the story of how they met, of bustling market and children screaming. Of red apples and sweat clinging. Some nights she carefully approached him, knowing that the man she loved didn’t know he loved her back. Other nights she cried to sleep, hoping that his time would go on and not reverting.It felt like losing, sometimes, even when he was asleep in her embrace. Perhaps Death would have been kinder compared to the constant fretting over a lover's changing heart. Her confidence hit the low and eventually she doubted whether he had been in love with her at all.

So she changed her spells.

She hugged him tighter at nights and instead of receiving hopes of eternal love and fated soulmates, she sang of peaceful days spent alone and healing from grieving. Of never-ending blessings and a trust in the Higher Will. She moved her belongings to the empty space next door. She woke up and left the bed earlier, gradually erasing traces of her under his blanket along with any remnants of her magic. She smiled less often, spoke more scarcely. There was coldness behind her every words—not of hatred, just weary despair of an abandoned lover.

He didn't question it, still moving through the days without any faltering step.

Then came the last one night, where she would chant the final spell to let him go. There was no dinner, no pillowtalk. Only him and her, sitting at the empty table, holding on, ready to say goodbye if things don't go their way. He watched her carefully, noticing the way she kept frowning, her lips downturned. He squeezed her hands tighter, unconsciously, because suddenly he was afraid. Of what, he wasn't sure.

“What would happen after tonight?” He asked, trying to drain the tension in the room with one of his gentle smiles, the ones she fell in love with.

She didn’t smile back. In front of her was no longer a lover she sought at the deepest of the night, but an estranged family member whose love she drained day by day to the point he had no drop of affection left for him to share.

It was her fault, so it was her duty to make the wrong right again.

Just one spell, a minute of letting go and turning anew. To give him back his right of memories and surrender to what could possibly be his wrath, or his forgiveness.

Like him, she was scared. Because for the first time in her life, she would be laid bare. They would be laid bare. No more deceiving spells. No more time reversed. No more hidden man-made miracles.

Just him and her, betting on forgotten love, not knowing which answer would be the eventual end to their story.

Sragen, 23 July 2026