The Magic Paintbrush - By Zahra Bandukwala

Written By: Zahra Bandukwala

Category: Short Story

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

In the enchanting short story "The Magic Paintbrush," Zahra Bandukwala, writing as Suzuribako, has crafted a narrative that draws readers into a world of dreams and self-discovery. This piece is part of the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, showcasing her talent in the short story category. Bandukwala's story captures the essence of creativity and the journey of an artist searching for inspiration and fulfillment. Through her protagonist, Alara, the narrative explores themes of aspiration, the allure of fame, and the profound realization of what truly matters in life.

About the Work

"The Magic Paintbrush" weaves a tale that artfully blends magical realism with introspective elements. Alara, an artist struggling with her creative vision, discovers an extraordinary paintbrush that transforms her painted dreams into reality. Bandukwala skillfully employs vivid imagery and a contemplative tone to explore themes of ambition, identity, and the importance of cherishing life's intangible treasures. The story's mood shifts from melancholic to hopeful, leaving readers to ponder the true cost of dreams and the beauty of everyday life.

Suzuribako

Original Submission by Zahra Bandukwala

In her tiny studio filled to the brim with half-completed paintings, Alara stood beside the open window and watched the city work its way through the night. Dried paintbrushes lay scattered across paint palettes and chalk marks lined the floor. Outside, cars raced down empty roads while the odd straggler roamed the pebbled sidewalks with a drink in hand.

In the corner, far from the chaos of her artwork, a Suzuribako, a traditional Japanese lacquer box, adorned with chrysanthemums lay untouched. A thick layer of dust had accumulated on it, long forgotten by its owner.

As the sound of a young couple laughing filtered into the apartment, Alara turned her attention to the room. She eyed the multiple canvases; each depicting a story. She loved to create artwork. It had been her dream for as long as she could remember. But recently, things weren’t working out for her. Her paintings lacked vision, each one a duplicate of the one before. She had moved to the city for inspiration, and lately it had given her none.

Sighing, Alara manoeuvred her way through the maze of art supplies and miserably pulled out a frozen meal from her freezer. Shoving it into the microwave, she set the timer and waited. Outside, a busker had started playing a haunting melody on his guitar, and Alara cursed as she went over to slam her window shut. She didn’t need to feel any more depressed.

The microwave timer beeped loudly and Alara took out her meal. She grabbed the only set of cutlery she still had and sat by the table near the lacquer box. She had been gifted the box by her grandmother a few summers ago, a month before she passed away. The same year Alara had left her job as a well-paid architect to start painting full-time. She had needed some freedom, and she had saved up some money, so it seemed like the perfect fit. Most people had called it a mid-life crisis, and looking back it probably had been. She wasn’t so sure she had thought it through. Between struggling to sell her paintings, disappointing calls with museums, and her part-time job at the bakery down the street, her world had done a full 180.

Nibbling on her peas, she startled as the phone suddenly started ringing. Who was calling at 2 am?

She let it ring.

A few rings later, it transferred directly to voicemail.

“Hey A!” It was Allie, her best friend, whom she had met working at a coffee shop a year ago. They had hit it off instantly and had been friends since.

“So, I know you’re busy with your whole art event and stuff…”

There was no art event.

“...but you know that guy Jonathan, that I set you up with a while back? Well, he’s been calling like crazy and really wants to go on another date. Would you please just go out with him once more! I hardly think him wearing mismatched socks to your date was a valid excuse to reject him.”

The socks were not the issue. The guy was great. Really great. Alara just didn’t know how to handle it.

“Anyways…just give him a call A. You won’t regret it.”

Alara groaned audibly. It was just lame excuse after lame excuse. She needed to stop moping; it wasn’t going to change anything. Perhaps she would call Jonathan tomorrow. The date would be a good distraction. She needed it.

Turning her attention back to her food, she ate quickly, washed the dishes, and decided to go to bed. Just as she was about to turn off the lights, her eyes landed on the lacquer box once more. She had never opened it all these years. At first, it had been the grief that prevented her from opening it. Opening it would unleash the heavy weight on her chest, and she didn’t need that. As the years passed by, avoidance became a habit, and it simply sat in the corner. Another object scattered amidst many others.

But something in her felt different tonight. Perhaps it was time to see what was inside.

With the city falling asleep beside her, Alara made her way carefully across the apartment. Picking up the box, she turned it sideways and took in the intricate design. Gently, she blew off the coat of dust, gliding her fingers across the smooth surface before lifting the lid. Under the cover, the box was decorated with a dozen gold and bronze mandarin ducks, set against a black background. The contrast was fascinating.

Alara smiled as she picked up the thin sheet of translucent paper that lay over a simple paintbrush. In her grandmother's handwriting, the words ‘So you remember to cherish all the things in your life’ had been scribbled onto the paper. Beneath it, a bamboo Kumano brush lay delicately inside, waiting to be used. Fascinated by the brush, Alara gaped at its craftsmanship. Fine bristles and a slender handle, the brush was clearly an expensive one.

Finding a plain canvas on the floor to her right, Alara balanced it on an easel and decided to give the brush a try. She looked out the window and her eyes settled on a bouquet of pink tulips blooming in the shop across the street. She would paint them.

Paintbrush in hand, she found a palette, squeezed some pink paint onto it, and started painting. Occasionally dipping her brush in water, she watched as the brush danced across the canvas, creating petals and stems and leaves.

When she finally finished, Alara stepped back and took in the painting.

She liked it, for once.

Eyeing the paintbrush, she rinsed it in water and carefully placed it down on a discarded towel on the floor to dry. As she turned back to her canvas, she froze. Where the painting had stood only seconds ago, was now the bouquet of flowers she had just painted. Vibrant and fresh, and very real.

Slowly, she stepped closer. A trembling hand reached out to touch the petals in front of her. Alara gasped as the petal bent beneath her fingertips, soft and delicate. Rain drops clung tightly to the edges and a vivid floral smell filled the room.

Confused, Alara stared. Her heart pounded in her ribs. She pinched herself on the arm, just to make sure what was happening was real.

“Ow,” she squealed loudly.

She paused. Then she laughed. It was a wild laugh, full of chaos and excitement. Unrestrained and happy. It was something she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

Was this a magic paintbrush?

Certain she was drunk, or well into a dream, Alara picked up the paintbrush once again. Scraps of paper had been stacked in one corner, and she picked one up. She could draw whatever she wanted, right?

Somewhere upstairs, in the apartment above her, she vaguely heard the sounds of rock music and chatter. A dog barked loudly in the apartment next door, and the smell of day-old Chinese food wafted in through the ceiling vents.

This was her life. Her cramped studio with poor maintenance and loud neighbours. No room for more than just a few belongings, and she could barely afford the rent.

The window was the only reason she hadn’t left yet. Taking up most of the southern side of the room, she could see the whole city as it waded through its day. She saw sleepless nights, and zooming cars. Rainy days where the city mourned a life forgotten. Days filled with happy couples and days filled with lonely wanderers. She saw life unfold in front of her, every second of every day. And it made her fall in love with the city even more.

Now however, as she stared at the paintbrush in her hand, she wondered if she could have both. Bigger rooms and quiet neighbours. Room to breathe amidst the chaos of her artwork. And the world carrying on beside her, not stopping for anyone or anything.

Crazy, she was crazy. This couldn’t possibly be happening. But why not have a little fun while it lasts?

Quickly, Alara coated her paintbrush in some paint. Paper in front of her, she pressed the bristles softly against the white background.

And she started painting.

An apartment, twice the size of this one with two large bedrooms. Modern furniture and tasteful decor. It was stylish and spacious, with a view even more magnificent than the one she had now. It was everything she had desired.

Content with her design, Alara finally stopped painting.

She then stepped back and waited. Waited for her painting to become a reality.

Suddenly, the whole room started spinning. The canvases in her room dissolved into specks of floating colour and she cried out as the paper between her fingers started to melt. Ribbons of smoke curled over pieces of furniture, snatching everything that came within its grasp. The room was spinning faster and Alara felt herself lose balance. She held onto the counter behind her and shut her eyes, hoping the gyrating would end.

A clock chimed loudly in the distance.

The floor beneath her feet started to dissipate. She screamed as the walls blurred into one.

Had something gone wrong?

Then, just as suddenly as it had started, everything stopped.

Alara opened her eyes.

Her studio had vanished, and in its place was a large master bedroom. Warm beige walls surrounded her, and rich brown fluted panelling made up one side of the room. The opposite wall had been replaced with an arched window, showcasing the silent city below. Alara spun in a circle and took in all the details. Every intricacy was there, just as she had painted it moments ago.

Breathing deeply, she smiled as the smell of pumpkin spice drifted through the room, warm and familiar. She laughed softly, afraid that any noise would shatter the illusion.

But it was all there, tangible and real. Right in front of her.

As she took in the peacefulness, exhaustion washed over her. Crawling beneath the blanket, she laid her head down on a pillow and closed her eyes.

With the city sleeping beside her, she couldn’t help but wonder when the effects of her dream would finally wear off.

*

Early the next morning, as the sky turned a hazy pink outside, Alara yawned widely. She had had the most curious dream. Something to do with a magic paintbrush and a new apartment. If only her imagination ran that wild when painting, perhaps then she could create something a little out of the box.

Stretching her arms, she pulled off her blanket and placed her feet on the tiled floor.

She blinked once.

Then again.

This wasn’t her studio.

In complete disbelief, Alara jumped out of bed and ran into the kitchen. It was all there, just as she had seen it last night. Every bit. As the disbelief faded, and a sense of curiosity replaced it, Alara wondered what else she would be able to paint.

A Bentley. Or a gallery, filled with her artwork. Some recognition for the tedious hours she had put into a career that seemed to only go downwards.

Placing a mug under her coffee machine, her mind hopped from one idea to the next. There was so much that she could do. Unable to restrain herself, she skipped into the adjoining room. Art supplies had been neatly stacked into cupboards and drawers, and brand-new canvases lay waiting on wooden easels. Alara’s mind spiralled rapidly: magazine articles, prestigious awards, her artwork on billboards. The list could go on.

Searching the room for the lacquered box, she finally located it on a glass table placed in one corner. She opened the box and took out the brush that was obscured beneath the thin piece of paper.

She started with a gallery, right in the heart of the city. Her paintings adorned the pastel yellow walls, each framed and titled amongst a sea of other artists. Crowds waited patiently in lines, captivated by the worlds that she had painted into existence.

Her paintbrush was gliding in front of her, a twirling ribbon baton in the hand of an adroit ballerina. Colours bled into one another, creating something more beautiful with every stroke.

Then came the articles. Magazines featuring her art on glossy pages; writing stories about the architect who had followed her passion and left a life of monotony behind.

And finally, the billboards. Advertisements spotlighting her pieces all over the city. Recognition and fame; it was intoxicating and Alara loved it.

As each painting sprang to life amidst a whirl of smoke and colour, she felt a weight lift off her shoulders. Awards lined her shelves, magazine printouts lay stacked to the side, billboard designs flashed against her computer screen.

All her dreams brought to life in a heartbeat.

The sharp trill of her phone suddenly brought Alara back into the present, and she ran to pick up the call.

“Alara, hi.”

She didn’t recognise the voice.

“Listen, I’m going to be quick. The editor from Unlimited just sent over your feature. I want you to have a look, I’ve sent it to your email. Tell me what you think.”

“Umm, okay,” Alara replied, unsure of who the woman on the other end was.

“I’ll talk to you later.”

She cut the call.

Alara shook her head. Madness, this was madness. A feature? Editor? Huh?

Discarding the thought for the time being, she played back her voicemails. Allie’s voicemail played first.

“Right, Jonathan!” Alara remembered.

Making another mug of coffee, she dialled his number. He didn’t take long to answer.

“Hello?”

“Hey Jonathan, this is Alara. We went on a date a few days back.”

There was no answer.

“Alara?” The name sounded funny in his mouth, unfamiliar. “I’m sorry, I don’t seem to remember.”

Alara raised her eyebrows.

“My friend Allie set us up. Allie Davies,” she tried again.

“Allie? I’m sorry but I think you might have the wrong number. Allie set me up with another woman. Daisy.”

Daisy?

“Come on, Jonathan,” Alara laughed. “It’s me. The painter who laughed at your mismatched socks.”

Jonathan went silent.

“No, I’m sorry. I think you got the wrong number…I gotta go.”

And he hung up.

Sipping on her coffee, Alara took a seat at the dining table. An incense stick burned, filling the room with the cloying scent of vanilla.

How could he not remember?

Perplexed, Alara walked into her room. Silence washed over her, and suddenly she missed the cacophony of noise that used to wash over her apartment. Massaging her temples, she sighed deeply. Her fingers brushed strands of hair behind her ears, and for some reason she felt as if she had aged decades in one night. Standing in front of the mirror, she looked up. A wrinkled face looked back at her. She didn’t recognise it.

Her fingers ran through her greying hair, grazing the stress lines on her face. Who was this?

For a second it didn’t register. Like a hallucination that would slowly dissipate.

Then, reality hit her.

She screamed, hands pulling at her skin and hair, begging for her youth to return. A bright light flashed outside her window, and she stumbled backwards, tears streaming down her face.

As she staggered through her apartment, she noticed the picture frames hanging against the walls. No family. No Allie. No one, apart from her.

She had despised her life before, but somehow the paintbrush had made it worse. Her paintings were lacklustre. Her apartment always smelled. Her career had hit rock bottom before it even began.

But she had her friends, and a world beyond the fame that she was seeing now.

This was her new life. Stripped off any relationships, stripped off her youth. It was a bleaker reality than the one before.

Running to the lacquer box, Alara drunkenly fumbled through its contents. She was looking for something, anything, to explain what was happening. The Kumano brush lay balanced precariously on a pot of water, and Alara lurched forward. Rotating it between her fingers, her eyes caught sight of a faint engraving near the bottom of the stem.

A trade for a trade.

Recognition for her family. Fame for her friends. Luxury for her youthfulness.

Alara looked out the window. So much had changed in her life, yet the city hadn’t changed one bit. The world continued moving, fast-paced and unyielding, indifferent to all she had gained and lost.

Grief engulfed Alara. Her grandmother’s words replayed in her head, ‘So you remember to cherish all the things in your life’. Cherish the little things, no matter how insignificant. For the first time, Alara understood what she had been given. Not a tangible gift, but a lesson in appreciation.

Outside, a truck braked sharply before turning right onto the next street. A car beeped loudly behind and the truck emerged moments later, on the other side of the road, traveling back in the direction it had come.

As she kept watching, her mind started to race. Could she take a U-turn too?

Hope flickered within her and Alara picked up the paintbrush. A sheet of paper lay in front of her. She crossed her fingers as her brush started its waltz.

She painted her studio, bursting with furniture. The art supplies discarded on the floor and the single bed pushed against the corner. She imagined the smell of frozen meals and dried up paint. She heard the barking of dogs and the laughter of children. She envisioned her table, cluttered with things that should have been thrown away a long time ago. It was her life, just as before. Imperfect, but beautiful.

As the final brushstroke fell into place, Alara smiled. A wrinkled smile that filled her eyes.

And suddenly the world started spinning. Blurring colours and objects till she was standing in her studio once more.

As the sun started to set outside the window, the sky fractured into a gradient of colours. City lights started slowly coming to life. Below, a caricaturist called out to passersby, his voice carrying faintly through the open window.

The phone rang. Alara let it transfer to voicemail.

“Hey Alara, it’s Jonathan. Any chance I can get that second date with you?”

Alara laughed loudly, filling the room she had once found so suffocating.

In a pot nearby, she found a thick green paintbrush. She picked it up, dipped it in water, and started painting.

Not awards. Not galleries. Not fame.

She painted the little things, the moments that made her life solely hers.

The things she so fondly cherished.

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar is a prestigious platform celebrating diverse voices in literature. This competition provides writers worldwide with the opportunity to share their creative expressions in poetry, short stories, and essays. With a focus on originality and thematic exploration, it invites participants to contribute their unique perspectives to the global literary landscape.

We extend our gratitude to Zahra Bandukwala for her captivating short story, "The Magic Paintbrush." As part of the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, it reflects her remarkable narrative skill and imaginative flair. We look forward to more of her creative journeys and thank her for sharing this enchanting tale with us.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.