The Wish Collector

by Mia Sheridan

Anguish ratcheted through him, and he let out a whoosh of breath as if the admittance was a tangible thing with a soul of its own and had been residing inside of his chest for years, buried underneath the words. And yet, the admittance of it didn’t extinguish his guilt. It only added fuel to the fire. Now she knew too, this girl who had spoken to him gently, who had called him the wish collector and come back.

Jonah…. 🫶🏼

That’s what he’d done to her, as she’d sat there, the colors in the sky bleeding together and melting into darkness. She’d felt consumed. Completely engulfed by something strong and sweet. Jonah. Her wish collector. Her grit and velvet-voiced dream weaver.

Two of the most romantic characters I ever!!!

His body remained in the room, but he swore his soul followed her.

“Oh, Jonah”—she squeezed his hands—“you don’t have to wait for the darkness to come outside. You can live in the light.” But a small needle of guilt poked at her chest. She felt like she was pushing him again and didn’t want him to resent her for that. She wanted to inspire him, to make him feel safe, not to pressure him. “But at your own pace. This”—she squeezed his hands again—“is the most wonderful surprise of my life.”

“Because I want to be near you,” he said without considering his words. I crave you. I want to protect you.

Right that minute he could sense it emanating in the space around them, the feeling that he had done well in her eyes and that she was proud of him in a way a woman finds pride in the man she wants to call her own. And it lit him from within. It lit his soul. He lived in the darkness, but Clara, she was his light.

THIS SHIT RIGHT HERE 👆🏼👆🏼👆🏼