The Marid pact

The dreaded birthday

The morning of the twins’ eighteenth birthday dawned with a strange stillness. Sunlight crept hesitantly through the curtains, casting a pale golden glow across the house. Mariam woke before anyone else, her heart pounding with a mixture of dread and hope. She moved quietly through the house, checking on every detail of the preparations, her hands trembling as she arranged the decorations and set out the cake she had baked the night before.

Sameer was silent at breakfast, barely touching his food. He kept glancing at the clock, as if counting down the hours. The girls, in contrast, were full of excitement, chattering about the friends who would be arriving and the party that awaited them. Sarah teased Aliyah about her dress, and Aliyah rolled her eyes, but even their laughter seemed subdued, as if muffled by the heavy air that hung over the house.

As guests began to arrive, the house filled with music and voices. Relatives brought gifts and blessings, neighbours came bearing sweets, and the twins’ friends filled the rooms with laughter. Yet, for Mariam and Sameer, every smile was tinged with anxiety. They watched their daughters closely, searching for any sign that the marid’s promise would come to claim its due.

Aliyah and Sarah moved through the crowd together, their arms linked, their faces bright with forced cheer. But Aliyah felt a strange tension building inside her—a prickling at the back of her neck, a sense that she was being watched. She tried to ignore it, to lose herself in the celebration, but every time she caught her parents’ eyes, she saw the fear they were trying so hard to hide.

The party continued into the evening, the house glowing with fairy lights and the sound of music drifting out into the garden. But as the sun set and shadows crept across the lawn, a hush seemed to fall over the gathering. The guests grew quieter, their laughter fading as if they, too, sensed that something was amiss.

When it was time to cut the cake, Mariam lit the candles with shaking hands. Sameer stood behind the twins, his arms around their shoulders, holding them close as if he could shield them from fate itself. Aliyah and Sarah closed their eyes, made their wishes, and blew out the candles together. For a moment, the room erupted in applause, and the tension seemed to lift.

But as the evening wore on, nothing happened. No strange voices whispered from the shadows, no chill swept through the house. The marid did not appear. The party ended quietly, guests slipping away with gentle hugs and reassurances. Mariam and Sameer watched their daughters, relief slowly dawning in their eyes.

That night, as the family sat together in the living room, a quiet peace settled over the house. Mariam hugged her daughters tightly, tears of gratitude streaming down her face. Sameer smiled for the first time in weeks, his heart light with hope.

When the girls finally went to bed, Mariam and Sameer lingered in the hallway, listening to their laughter drifting from behind the closed door. “Maybe it’s over,” Mariam whispered, her voice trembling. “Maybe we’re safe.”

Sameer nodded, but deep inside, a small knot of fear remained. For now, though, the family allowed themselves to believe that the worst had passed, unaware that the true test was yet to come.