My Attic's Inhabitant Part 4: Third Wish

Ye gods, avoiding paparazzi is hard. I have never been so tired! Another thing I don't think I've been since I started wishing: alone. I feel so very very alone. I mean, sure, every single guy out there was tripping over himself to get to me...but that was because I'm famous now. They don't even know who I am. No idea. One of them forgot my name and just started yelling I love you! really loudly. That was embarrassing. Very.

I'm walking back up the stairs to my attic. I'm so tired the flight of stairs seems about four times longer than it actually is. Gah. I'm exhausted. Did I mention that before?

The dim light of the genie is coming from under the door. I know what I'm wishing for this time, but I'm still nervous to enter. What if this guy really can't grant this last wish? What if he really IS like Aladdin's genie, and I have to set him free or something with my third wish?

I grit my teeth and push the door open. Hello? Oh, there you are. That's a magazine...with my face on it. Wow. They got those out pretty quickly, didn't they? Heh heh. Yeah, thanks. Well, hey, I'm ready for my third and final wish. But can you *whisper*?

Yes! Oh, thank goodness. Alright. Here goes nothing. Genie, I wish for true love, and not just for my looks. For me.

....................

I'm waiting. Hello? I thought you said you could do this. Oh, you did? Then where is he? Huh? I want to know.

There's a weird sound outside, like someone crashing into a rather hard object. Um. OK. Better check that out, huh?

Hello, I believe that you just managed to crash into my mailbox on a bike. What talent you have...and holy cow are you attractive. Yeah, no, I do live here. Uh-huh. Yep. That's me, hi. Are you- ahem, are you OK? Are you sure? Well, why don't you come inside and- OK. That's the wrong door. Here, let me help you. I think you hit your head a little hard, there. Let me get you some ice. What's your name?

I think I may have found someone. Someone who doesn't care that my face is on the magazine that is all over the newsstands. Someone that really wants to know me, and not my face. I think I like this guy. This incredibly talented bike rider who crashes into people's mailboxes. I think I really do like him.

What the heck? What is going on in my attic?

Genie?