prologue
Birth is not a miracle.
It's dark. It's cold. It's painful and loud. The mother screamed in pain as she pushed with all her might. But it wasn't enough. In the dark storm nobody could hear her suffering or come to help. She wished her baby could make it.
Funny how often we all wish for something. You can't go a day without hearing a wish. You think something so wanted would be so much stronger. But it isn't.
The poor forsaken mother lay still in the filthy barn. The baby hadn't made it out and suffocated in her stomach. Mud puddles pooled around them making the woman's pale flesh stick out. If only she had got her wish.
If only I had been there a day or two sooner. Then my wife would still be alive. And maybe i'd have my son or daughter. If only her wish had come true. I'm so sorry Aashvi...
After my wife's untimely death, I fell into depression and anger. I resented all those rich men who flaunted their money and bought everything. They could wish. Their wishes came true. They have all they want in their personal golden palaces.
And What do I get? I get suffering, pain, anguish, torture. What makes them deserve so much better than me? What makes us any different? why can their wishes come true...
It's because of a simple small fact. That will crush all hopes of the lower class like me. It's an unavoidable truth to haunt all of us below. Because we can't have wishes.
Wishes are only for the rich.
![[Moving to Galatea] What We Never Healed](https://cdn-gcs.inkitt.com/vertical_storycovers/ipad_b00b828931c645f2eccdf3396cb15498.jpg)
