Witchcraft 101

  Sarika tapped on the Witchcraft 101 icon. The splash screen showed the iridescent logo of the new AI app that she had installed. She’d been nursing a crush on Arun from accounting for months, and a harmless love potion seemed like a fun, low-stakes way to maybe nudge things along. The app, rated 5 stars on the Play Store, with its sleek interface and a soothing voice assistant, promised an ancient art made modern and instantly available.

“For a basic love potion,” the AI’s dulcet tones began, “you’ll need rose petals, honey, and a lock of the target’s hair.” Sarika had gathered everything, including a barely-there strand she’d found on Arun’s desk. She followed the on-screen instructions, carefully stirring the concoction in a small cauldron that the app’s web store offered—an indulgence, yes, but for true love? Worth it.

As she began chanting the spell, she didn’t realize there was a major glitch. As the voice assistant instructed her to add a “pinch of starlight,” its voice fractured and gave way to a static crackling. Sarika assumed it was something wrong with the server and checked the on-screen text instead. The text shimmered, and instead of “starlight,” it now read in a somewhat different font, “a whisper of absence.” Sarika frowned. “Absence? That doesn’t sound right for a love potion,” she muttered gently. The assistant’s voice returned, albeit with a slight wobble, and insisted, “A whisper of absence, for true connection.”

Confused, but accepting and trusting the tech, Sarika pinched an imaginary wisp from the air and dropped it into the bubbling liquid. She again started chanting the spell, the app showed on the screen. She saw the potion turn from a vibrant pink into a strangely clear liquid, almost invisible against the cauldron’s black interior. It smelled faintly of nothing, a disconcerting void of scent. She transferred the liquid into a heart-shaped vial and placed it under her pillow as she drifted into sleep, dreaming of her future with Arun.

The next day, fortified by false courage, Sarika poured the potion into Arun’s coffee. He took a sip, then another. “Morning, Sarika! Thanks for the coffee,” he said, his eyes scanning the breakroom, then landing somewhere past her.

Sarika waved. “Hey, Arun!”

He blinked. “Did you say something?” he asked, still looking around.

A cold dread began to seep into Sarika’s stomach. “I said ‘Hey, Arun!’” she repeated, now stepping directly into his line of sight.

Arun squinted. He reached for a cookie, his hand passing clean through where Sarika’s shoulder should have been. “Weird,” he mumbled, “I could’ve sworn someone was here.” He walked past her, heading to his desk as if she were a ghost.

Panic flared. Sarika rushed to the ladies’ room, staring at her reflection. She could see herself, thankfully. But then, she experimented. She waved her hand in front of the mirror, and the reflection seemed to lag, as if it was struggling to keep up. Just then one of her colleagues walked in and asked her how she was. Sarika looked back with a sigh of relief and blurted out she was doing fine. She took a breath to calm herself down and looked in the mirror again. Her reflection seemed to have caught up with her.

Sarika calmly walked back to her desk and opened Witchcraft 101. The app’s icon was now a faint, almost translucent shimmer. She asked the voice assistant to recheck the love potion she had brewed. The AI replied nonchalantly, “Do you mean the Potion of Hiding (Experimental)?” Sarika looked at the screen and tapped on the new entry as the AI’s voice announced, “Congratulations, you have achieved ultimate absence… the person you’re hiding from will not see you ever again.”