The silence was wrong.
Not empty.
Not peaceful.
It pressed against Sall's ears like a weight, thick and suffocating, as though the house itself were holding its breath. He remained seated at the dining table, his fingers resting flat against the wood, unable to move. His chest rose and fell slowly, but each breath felt deliberate, forced.
This place was familiar.
Too familiar.
Every crack in the wall, every stain on the floor
—he knew them all. He had grown up here. He had lived here.
And yet…
This was not a memory.
It was a reconstruction.
— Focus… he whispered.
The sound of his own voice echoed unnaturally, as if the walls were repeating it after him. Sall pushed his chair back and stood up. The scraping noise was sharp, aggressive, and the moment it rang out, the house reacted.
The corridor lights flickered.
The air grew colder.
Sall's spine stiffened.
— I'm dreaming, he said more firmly.
— This is just a dream.
But the words refused to settle.
He walked toward the corridor. Each step felt heavier than the last, as though the floor resisted him. Doors lined the hallway—his parents' room, the storage room, the old bathroom.
He did not stop at his parens' door.
He couldn't.
His gaze fixed on the last one.
Aïcha's room.
— Don't… he muttered.
His hand hovered over the handle. For a moment, he considered turning back. Then the door opened on its own.
Aïcha sat on her bed.
She looked exactly as she should.
Alive.
Unharmed.
Smiling.
.
— You took a long time, big brother.
Relief hit him so hard his knees nearly gave out. His chest tightened painfully, emotions flooding him all at once.
— Aïcha…
He stepped inside.
The room was perfect. Too perfect. Not a single toy out of place. The curtains didn't move. The air felt still, frozen.
— Are you okay? he asked softly.
She nodded.
— Why wouldn't I be?
Her voice was right. Her face was right.
Her presence was wrong.
Something behind her eyes felt hollow.
— What did you do today? Sall asked.
Aïcha frowned.
— Why are you acting strange?
She stood up.
The moment her feet touched the floor, Sall noticed it.
Her shadow lagged behind her movements, delayed by half a second.
He froze.
— Stop.
She tilted her head.
— Stop what?
— You're not her.
Her smile widened
—but it no longer reached her eyes.
— And what if I am?
The walls seemed to inch closer. The ceiling lowered slightly. Sall felt pressure building behind his temples.
— I know my sister, he said through clenched teeth.
Aïcha stepped closer.
— You knew her, she corrected. — Before you left.
The words struck deep.
— I didn't abandon you.
— Didn't you?
The room changed.
Not abruptly.
Gradually.
The furniture twisted at unnatural angles. The walls stretched. The mirror reflected something slightly off
—Aïcha's reflection moved when she didn't.
Images flooded Sall's mind.
Aïcha older.
Aïcha staring at him with unfamiliar eyes.
Aïcha pulling away from his touch.
Aïcha whispering things he couldn't hear, but somehow understood were accusations.
— Stop showing me this!
— I'm not showing you lies, the voice whispered
—no longer hers, layered beneath it.
— Only what could be.
Sall staggered backward.
— You're using her.
— She is the easiest path to you.
The visions grew worse.
Not violent.
Not obscene.
Just wrong.
Aïcha standing too close, then recoiling in disgust.
Aïcha looking at him with fear.
Aïcha accusing him with her eyes
alone.
Each image planted a seed of unease, of shame, of confusion. The djinn wasn't attacking his body.
It was poisoning his memories.
— If you doubt her… the voice murmured,
— you will distance yourself without me ever touching you.
Sall dropped to his knees.
— Get out of my head.
The pressure increased. His thoughts blurred. For a terrifying moment, he felt himself slipping—his emotions unraveling, his sense of reality thinning.
Then
The ring pulsed.
A sharp, icy sensation wrapped around his finger and spread upward like frost.
The pain was grounding. Anchoring.
A wall formed in his mind.
The visions slammed against it
—and shattered.
Aïcha froze mid-step. Her face went blank.
— Ah… the djinn hissed.
— So that's what it does.
Sall breathed heavily, gripping the ring.
— You can't break me.
— Not yet.
The djinn's presence pressed against the invisible barrier. Sall felt it
—like claws scraping glass. The ring burned colder, reinforcing the wall, pushing back.
— It protects your mind… and your flesh, the djinn said, intrigued.
— But even walls crack.
The room began to collapse.
The floor gave way beneath him.
— Remember what you felt, the voice whispered as everything fell apart.
— Even when you wake up.
Darkness swallowed him.
— SALL!
He jolted awake violently.
His body snapped upright, breath ragged, heart pounding as if it would burst from his chest. Sweat soaked his clothes. His vision spun.
— Hey! Hey! Abdul shouted, gripping his shoulders.
— Wake up! You were screaming!
Sall blinked rapidly.
The real house.
The real night.
Abdul's face
—pale, shaken.
Sall immediately looked at his hand.
The ring was there.
Cold.
Silent.
Intact.
— Don't… let me sleep again, he whispered hoarsely.
Abdul frowned.
— What the hell happened to you?
Sall didn't answer.
Because even awake…
The disgust lingered.
And the dream had succeeded in one thing:
It had planted doubt.
And doubt, once born, never truly slept.