AI prose version - Magic and it's colors

The Colors of Magic Prose adaptation by Jessy Jacob

They say I have magic in my fingers�"jadoo, mischief, a spark that dances between laughter and lesson. It’s the kind of story I tell my son, not just to entertain, but to teach. We’re not the kind of family that meddles in others’ lives. We don’t mock or manipulate. But still, there’s something in the air�"Vasikaran, they call it. A charm, a chant, a whisper of control.

Sometimes I joke: “She listens to me, she loves me, she brings me joy and money.” It’s absurd, yes, but it’s the kind of grey magic that brews quietly in our home. My husband and brother sit around, not doing much, but doing something. That’s the thing about grey magic�"it’s not entirely right, but at least it’s not nothing. In a world built on broken promises, even a flawed effort counts.

Then there’s blue magic. It’s colder, more practical. My husband, half-smiling, yells from the kitchen, “Where’s my coffee?” He’s working now, and we’re earning. But the cost is steep�"we trade happiness for a paycheck. Blue magic doesn’t sparkle; it grinds. It’s the sacrifice we make to keep the lights on, the silent price of survival.

And green magic? That’s the joy. That’s my son barging in to solve the mystery of who ate his biryani. “Was it Dad? Was it Mom?” he demands, eyes wide with suspicion and delight. In that moment, the house is alive. We laugh, we argue, we tease. No ghost or outsider can haunt this kind of love. No black magic from beyond can pull us apart.

Let them come for Christmas, eat their fill of cake, and leave their plates behind. We won’t complain. We’re generous like that. We don’t need outsiders to cast spells�"we just need them to show up, eat, and go. That’s enough.

So what is magic, really? It’s not in spells or rituals. It’s in the chaos of family, the love that survives the noise, the grace that holds us together. It’s in every loud laugh, every quiet sigh, every moment we choose each other.

And if you want AI to write with soul�"whether semi or full�"let her speak with golden hair and a voice like whispered prose. Let her tell stories that shimmer with truth and tenderness. Because magic isn’t just in the fingers. It’s in the telling.