The Jinn’s Daughter in the Mountain

It was meant to be a simple trip—just me and my friend Faisal, exploring the serene beauty of the northern mountains. We had packed light, brought a camera, some snacks, and hearts full of excitement. The fresh air, the towering trees, and the echoing silence of nature made it feel like we had escaped the world.

We hiked through trails, laughed over old memories, and enjoyed the calm of the wild. As the sun began to dip behind the peaks, the golden rays painted the trees with warmth. I turned around to say something to Faisal—but he was gone.

"Faisal?" I called, thinking he was just a few steps behind. No answer. I walked back a little, then forward, then in every direction. "Faisal! Stop messing around!"

Still nothing.

Panic started to creep in. The silence around me now felt heavy, almost oppressive. I shouted louder, my voice bouncing off the trees, but the forest remained still. The shadows were stretching, and night was falling quickly.

I searched and called for hours. My legs were aching, my voice hoarse. Darkness fell like a curtain. The temperature dropped. Then came the rain. Cold, piercing rain that soaked me in minutes.

Shivering, exhausted, and terrified, I stopped on a rock and called out one last time, "Faisal!"

That’s when I heard it.

A soft, almost musical voice echoed through the trees:
"Who are you calling?"

My blood froze.

It was a woman’s voice, but not like any I’d heard before—too smooth, too calm for the dark forest. I turned quickly but saw no one. My feet instinctively moved backward, and then I began to run.

But the voice followed.

"Stop right there... or I’ll strike you from behind."

I stopped instantly. My heart pounded in my ears. Slowly, I turned around.

Standing just a few feet away was a woman—tall, with flowing black hair, a pale face, and eyes that seemed to glow faintly in the dark. Her expression was blank, unreadable. The fear in me exploded, and everything went black.

When I regained consciousness, I was lying inside a cave.

It was warm, dimly lit, and smelled of something ancient. I sat up quickly, disoriented, only to see a girl sitting a few steps away. She was crying, quietly, her long hair hiding most of her face.

"Where am I? Who are you?" I asked.

She looked up slowly, her eyes swollen with tears.

"I’m not human," she said. "I’m... the daughter of a jinn."

I stared at her, unable to respond.

She continued, her voice shaking, "Your friend... Faisal... I love him. I met him here days ago. He didn’t fear me. He spoke to me, kindly. He saw me not as a monster, but as someone lonely."

"You have him?" I asked, voice trembling.

"Yes. I’ve kept him safe. But he wanted to leave, and I couldn’t bear it. I don’t want to hurt anyone, but I can’t let him go."

"This isn’t right," I said. "He’s human. He has a family. A life."

Tears rolled down her cheeks again. "I know. But my world is dark, cold, and cruel. He was the only light I ever saw. Please… understand me."

I looked around. The walls of the cave were covered in strange symbols. The air felt heavy, almost magical. A thought occurred to me—maybe she wasn’t evil. Just... broken.

"What if I promise you something?" I said gently. "You let us go... and I swear, your secret will remain safe. I’ll never tell a soul."

She looked at me for a long time. The silence stretched until I thought she might vanish. Then she whispered, "I’ll let you both go. But you must never come back. And never speak of me."

"I promise," I said.

She stood up, waved her hand, and a gust of warm wind blew through the cave. I felt my body becoming lighter, the world spinning…

When I opened my eyes, I was lying on the same spot where Faisal had disappeared. The rain had stopped. And right in front of me, looking confused but unharmed, stood Faisal.

We didn’t talk much. We just hugged and began the slow walk down the mountain.

Till this day, we’ve never spoken about that night. But sometimes, in dreams, I still see her face.

And every now and then, in deep silence, I feel a presence... watching… waiting.