I swallowed hard, my pulse hammering in my ears as I stared at the woman across the street. It had been a stupid, impulsive thought—just a half-formed curiosity bouncing around in my head. But the second I said the words, the ring did its thing.
Her clothes vanished.
One second, she was just a random woman, following a small child as he played along the sidewalk near the bus stop, glancing down at her phone every few moments. She wasn’t doing anything special—just existing, living her life. And then, in an instant, she was completely bare, aside from the thin strap of her purse digging into her shoulder.
She froze.
Then her breath hitched, and a half-second later, she screamed.
I felt my whole body turn to ice. Oh shit.
She wasn’t some model or fantasy figure. She was just real—a woman in her mid-20s, maybe a little older. She had soft features, almond-shaped eyes that were now stretched wide in horror, and dark hair tied back in a loose ponytail. Her skin was smooth and lightly golden, the kind of natural tone that never needed makeup. There was a quiet beauty to her, understated and effortless.
And now, she was standing in the open, completely exposed, her body laid bare for the world to see.
She wasn’t rail-thin like some teenager. She had gentle curves, a soft but firm shape that carried the quiet strength of someone used to movement. Her breasts were round and heavy, not large, but full, with darkened, sensitive nipples—her body already beginning the early stages of change. Her stomach, still mostly flat, held the subtle swell of early pregnancy, a barely noticeable rounding beneath her navel. Not quite obvious, but there, the smallest sign of a life growing inside her.
And she had no way to hide it.
She gasped, whipping her arms forward, covering herself as best as she could, but it was useless. Her body had already been seen, and she knew it. Her mouth opened, but for a moment, no sound came out, just a broken, breathless gasp of shock and raw humiliation.
Then, finally—
A shattered cry.
It wasn’t just embarrassment. It was terror.
The little boy—her son?—turned around at the sound. He was only three or four, barely old enough to process what was happening, but he saw her distress. His little face scrunched in confusion.
“Mama?” he asked, his voice small.
She spun away, her back hunching, her whole body curling in on itself as she tried desperately to shield herself from her own child.
People were already turning toward the noise. Heads snapping up, eyes widening, whispers rising like the first rumble of thunder before a storm.
And I had done this. Me.
A horrible, drowning wave of oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck crashed over me. My hands clenched into fists. This was bad—worse than bad—this was life-ruining. What the hell had I been thinking?!
I had to fix this.
I didn’t even realize I was stepping forward until I was already moving, instinct taking over. My mind screamed undo it, undo it, undo it, but nothing happened.
Nothing.
I had no idea how to reverse it.
The woman’s breaths were sharp, panicked little gasps, her arms wrapped around herself, protecting her stomach as much as her modesty, the maternal instinct stronger than her own shame. Her knees almost buckled as she hunched over, shoulders shaking.
The little boy took a step closer, uncertain, worried.
A man near her grabbed his jacket and rushed forward, already pulling it off.
No, no, no. If someone covered her, it would make it worse. People would know this wasn’t some kind of weird joke or hallucination—this was real.
I had seconds before this spiraled beyond anything I could fix.
I reached out uselessly, fingers twitching in the air, like I could somehow grab reality and pull it back together.
And then I remembered.
The ring.
I’d panicked. Tried to fix it without thinking. But the ring didn’t work that way.
I had to wish.
“I wish her clothes were back!” I shouted the words like a prayer, a desperate plea thrown into the universe.
And just like that, they were.
One blink.
The next, she was back in her jeans and loose maternity top, looking exactly like she had before.
The woman gasped, hands jerking down to feel her body, patting herself like she had to make sure it was real. Her eyes darted around, wild with confusion, breath still shaking.
The little boy tugged at her shirt, his small face scrunched in concern. “Mama?”
The man who had been taking off his jacket froze mid-motion, blinking at her like he couldn’t figure out what the hell just happened.
And I knew—it wasn’t enough.
They had seen. They had reacted. That moment had happened.
The fear didn’t go away. The murmurs didn’t stop. The woman still held herself like she was expecting to be naked again at any second. People were still looking, still confused, trying to process what just happened.
I had to go further.
I had to erase it.
“I wish,” I whispered under my breath, my hands shaking, “that everyone here forgets this ever happened.”
The air seemed to pulse. A wave, invisible but heavy, rippled outward from me, sweeping across the entire street.
And then—
The people around blinked.
The woman let out a breath and relaxed, her hands dropping from her body like she had just forgotten why she was holding herself so tightly. The man beside her, who had been rushing to help just a second ago, shook his head and turned away, eyes already glazing over.
The little boy kept playing, completely unfazed.
People went back to walking, talking, scrolling through their phones, as if nothing had happened.
As if she had never screamed. As if I had never seen everything.
I exhaled.
My heart slowed. My hands unclenched.
I had wiped it all away.
Nobody knew.
Nobody remembered.
I turned, shoving my trembling fingers into my pockets, and walked away.
And for the first time, I started to wonder—