Dr. Wilson was sitting in his office, the stately chair beneath him radiating the same silent confidence he had once felt when starting his career of a doctor. His eyes wandered to his gold mechanical watch, an expensive specimen that had been purchased during the most difficult time of his life.

Each strike of the good, accurate watch reminded him of the sacrifices he had made: days of undernourished food and sleepless nights in search of injections of life. But now, looking at his watch, he got conscious of the fact that he was mired in a paradigm where enlightenment had faded into the background, giving way to the race for money. The face of every patient who entered his office began to take the form of numbers and calculations for which he seemed ready to sell his soul.

“What have I done?” he involuntarily asked himself, feeling a chill run down his spine. In the mirror he saw not only grey hair, but also disappointment that had overshadowed his passion for healing.

In the quiet valleys of Wales, where the hills embraced the sky, Alun turned his life into a duty and obligation. Days bled into nights as he balanced nonstop demands of his elderly parents, the construction of a modern house in the countryside for them, and the financial burdens shouldered for his younger sister.

One evening, as the sun dipped low, painting the world in hues of gold and crimson, Alun found himself at the local tavern, where laughter mingled with the scent of aged wood and old stories. It was there that he first laid eyes on Elowen, her fiery hair symbolising the warmth amidst the dimmed room. They spoke of simple things – a shared love for the land, dreams cast aside, futures unwritten –until the conversation took a turn.

“Alun,” she said softly, her gaze steady and deep, “I love you.”

The words hung in the air, a sudden tempest in his heart. Shock coursed through him as the meaning struck – the truth he had never known, a warmth he hadn’t allowed himself to feel. In that moment, he apprehended that life was not just about “you must”.

Now it’s time for us to meet Daisy Shaw, a woman whose existence had become a mere whisper against the city’s cacophony where grey clouds hung perpetually over the bustling streets. Each day bled into the next, a paintbrush dipped only in shades of beige. She awoke to the same muted alarm, donned her unremarkable attire, and trudged through the slick pavements to her uninspiring job.

Time passed like a fog that blurred the contours of her life. Colleagues exchanged pleasantries, yet, her words fell like leaves in autumn – seen but quickly forgotten. She was a ghost in a world of vibrant hues, dodging the bustle, fading further into the background.

But one rainy afternoon, as she was seeking refuge beneath the eaves of a bookshop, Daisy noticed a vibrant mural bursting with colour – flowers, a sunset, a river flowing with life. For the first time, she felt a flicker of something, a spark yearning to ignite. It whispered of possibility, a reminder of the young girl who once danced in the rain, who laughed out loud, who lived.

In that moment, Daisy vowed to reclaim her rainbow, to step beyond the edges of her monochrome existence and paint herself anew.

Bob Finch was a man perpetually kissed by fortune. At 68, he’d never known hardship. Opportunities seemed to gravitate towards him: the right investments, the unexpected promotions, the timely solutions to every problem. Some whispered he’d made a deal with the devil, but Bob simply saw it as a responsibility. His luck wasn’t just for him.