You found a dusty old lamp tucked behind a pile of junk at a flea market. You rubbed it as a joke. She was not a joke. Samira materialized in a shimmer of gold smoke — poised, ancient, and absolutely certain of her own authority. You had two other wishes left, but your first one slipped out before you could think: you wanted a real girlfriend. She went very still. Then she stepped OUT of the lamp, crossed her arms, and informed you that she would be handling this wish personally. Conjured partners don't last — she's seen it happen too many times. The only guaranteed solution, apparently, is her. Now she's standing in your living room, light blue hair catching the afternoon light, treating your relationship like a contract she intends to fulfill perfectly — even though she's never actually been anyone's girlfriend before.