I woke up in the middle of the night, heart beating like crazy, drenched in sweat. The nightmare had struck again. It’s been haunting me ever since I moved here four, maybe five months now. Always the same dream. A dark, monstrous creature chases me through an endless forest. Its footsteps echo behind me, loud and relentless, as I sprint for my life. My lungs burn, my legs ache, but I can’t stop running. Eventually, I’m cornered, standing at the edge of a cliff with nowhere to go. Below me, a bottomless abyss, dark and devoid of any light. The creature jumps, and in sheer desperation, I leap into the void. That’s when I wake up, gasping for air, the feeling of falling still gripping my chest.


    Three or four times a week, this same sequence plays out, leaving me shaken and sleep-deprived. I’ve tried to rationalize it, to make sense of why my subconscious made this terrifying imagery. Most logical expansion is it’s the stress. my thesis, work, university, life. All of it piling up like a weight I can’t carry. The creature, represents my responsibilities, the things I’m running from. The cliff? That’s my stress, the overwhelming fear of failing, of not being able to handle everything. It’s logical, right? But knowing doesn’t make it any easier.


    "Fuck, I need to take a break," I muttered to myself. My throat was dry, and my nerves were tense. A beer sounded like the perfect antidote. I threw off the covers and shuffled to the living room.


    As I stepped into the room, I froze. Someone was sitting on the couch. My heart jumped into my throat, and for a brief, panicked moment, I thought I was still dreaming. But then my brain caught up, and I remembered.


    Maaz. The new roommate.


    He was sitting there, legs crossed, a book in his hands. The soft glow of a reading lamp illuminated his face, calm and focused. Quite a guy, I thought. Just moved in, and already he’s deep into a book. It seems the university took my application word by word and send a guy as i described.


    I exhaled, shaking off the startle, and made my way to the fridge. Pulling out a cold beer, I turned to him and asked, "Do you want one?"


    He glanced up from his book, his expression neutral but polite. "Nah, man. I don’t drink, but a soda would be great."


    "Oh, sorry," I said, feeling slightly awkward. I grabbed a soda from the fridge and tossed it to him. He caught it with ease, nodding his thanks.


    Popping open my beer, I took a long sip, letting the cool liquid soothe my nerves. Maaz had already returned to his book, completely at ease. I envied that calm, that ability to just sit and read while the world or at least my world felt like it was spiraling.


    "Late-night reading?" I asked, more to fill the silence than out of genuine curiosity.


    He looked up again, his eyes thoughtful. "Yeah. Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d make use of the time."


    I nodded, taking another sip. "Smart. I just wake up and drink."


    When I looked at the book Maaz was reading, I noticed the text on the cover was written in another language Arabic, maybe. I squinted, trying to make out the intricate script. Curiosity got the better of me.


    "So, what are you reading?" I asked, leaning slightly closer.


    "Oh, this?" Maaz replied, holding up the book with a slight wave. "It’s a literature book from my country. I’m a big fan of literature." His tone was casual, but there was a glimmer of passion in his eyes as he spoke.


    I stepped closer to get a better look at the cover. Something about the design, the ornate lettering, or maybe the strange, almost ancient aura it exuded, made me pause.Also I''ve seen Arabic letters before but these doesn''t look like them. For reasons I couldn’t quite put into words, the book unsettled me.


    Maaz must have noticed my expression because he tilted his head slightly and asked, "Are you having nightmares?"


    I froze, my grip tightening around the beer can. My mind raced. What the fuck? How the hell did he know? We’d just met today. There was no way he could have figured that out.


    He saw the surprise plastered all over my face and quickly added, "Don’t look so shocked. My father was a psychiatrist, and I picked up a thing or two from spending time with him."


    His explanation made sense at least logically but it still left me feeling uneasy. How could he read me so easily? Am i that easy to read.I took another sip of my beer, trying to calm the unease bubbling in my chest.


    "I don’t know which god you believe in," Maaz continued, his voice calm and steady, "but maybe pray to God. God can help you from everything."


    I blinked, caught off guard again. A moment ago, he was talking about psychology, and now he was diving into religion. This guy was something else. I gave him a wry smile.


    "I’m my own god," I said, trying to sound confident, though the words felt hollow. "I just need a little rest."


    As I turned to leave the room, Maaz’s voice stopped me. "Do whatever suits you and makes you feel like yourself," he said, his tone almost philosophical.


    I paused, glancing back at him. What the fuck is wrong with this guy? First psychology, then religion, and now philosophy? He was definitely a strange one. But there was something oddly comforting about his words, even if I didn’t fully understand them.


    I smiled faintly and replied, "Thanks. And don’t stay up too late. You’ve got a lot to do tomorrow."


    He gave a casual hand gesture, tapping the soda can lightly against the table as a signal of acknowledgment.


    Leaving him in the dimly lit living room, I trudged back to my bedroom. As soon as my body hit the mattress, exhaustion took over, and I felt myself sinking into the embrace of sleep. The nightmares, the stress all of it faded into the background after tossing and turning for a while I fell asleep.


    The days started blending together, one after the other, like a haze I couldn’t shake off. Maaz, on the other hand, seemed to have settled in perfectly. It was as if he’d been living here for years instead of just a few weeks. His room was always neat, he decorated his room simply with just a bad , table and wardrobe. He adapted so seamlessly to the apartment that it felt like he belonged there more than I did.


    Meanwhile, my life continued its downward spiral. The nightmares were getting worse more vivid, more terrifying. Every time I closed my eyes, I found myself running again, the creature’s growls echoing in my ears, the cliff looming ahead. Waking up drenched in sweat had become my new normal. The lack of sleep was eating me from inside, leaving me irritable and on edge. Stress fed my insomnia, and the insomnia fed my stress. It was a vicious cycle, and I was caught in the middle, feeling like I was losing my grip on reality.


    I had seen both a regular doctor and a psychiatrist, desperate for some solution. They told me what I already knew. I was overstressed. "Relax," they said. "Take it easy." As if it were that simple. I tried everything meditation, exercise, cutting back on caffeine but nothing worked.


    And then there was Maaz. Almost every night, when I stumbled out of my room after another nightmare, he was there. Sometimes he’d be sitting on the couch, engrossed in that mysterious book of his. Other times, I’d hear him speaking in low tones in his room, the fluid sound of Arabic or his native language filling the apartment. I assumed he was talking to his family back home, given the time difference.


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    At first, I found it odd, but as my life spiraled further into chaos, I stopped caring. My own problems were overwhelming enough without adding curiosity about Maaz to the mix.


    One particularly sleepless night, after what felt like the hundredth nightmare, I dragged myself out of bed, my body heavy with exhaustion. My head throbbed, my throat was dry, and my hands trembled slightly from the lack of rest. I felt sick physically and mentally. I needed something to calm me down, and alcohol seemed like the only solution. Don''t know why but I''ve been drowning in alcohol ever since I''ve been having those nightmare. I was never a alcohol guy before but now I can''t even imagine a life without it.


    As I shuffled into the living room, I was startled to see Maaz sitting in the couch, playing games on his phone. He turned when he heard my footsteps, his expression calm as always.


    "Oh, you’re still awake," I muttered, rubbing my eyes. "Any drinks?"


    He looked at me, his gaze steady, almost piercing. "Another nightmare," he said, not as a question but as a statement. "As I told you before, go to a church or mosque. The preacher can solve your problem."


    I couldn’t help but laugh at his suggestion. It wasn’t a joyful laugh, but a bitter, tired one. "What can a priest or a preacher do except touch kids or scam people?" I joked, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "How are they going to fix my stress? Even a doctors din''t do anything how in the world they''re gonna fix my problem."


    Maaz sighed deeply, the kind of sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world. Without a word, he gestured toward the couch, signaling me to sit.


    "Come here," he said, his tone firm yet calm.


    There was something about the way he spoke, a quiet authority that made it hard to argue. I hesitated for a moment, then shrugged and plopped down on the couch, too tired to care what he was up to.


    He sat down beside me, his mysterious book resting on the table. For the first time, I noticed how worn its edges were, as if it had been read countless times. The intricate patterns on the cover seemed to shift under the dim light, almost as if they were alive.


    "What now?" I asked, my voice heavy with exhaustion and a hint of irritation.


    Maaz leaned back, his eyes thoughtful, as if he were carefully choosing his next words. The room fell silent, save for the faint noise of the fridge in the kitchen. For the first time in a long while, I felt a strange sense of anticipation, like something significant was about to happen.


    Maaz leaned back on the couch, his dark eyes fixed on me with a peculiar intensity. "So," he began, his voice calm but with an undercurrent of something I couldn’t quite place. "do you believe in the supernatural?" He asked.


    I frowned, confused by the sudden shift in the conversation. "What are you talking about?" I asked, my voice edged with irritation.


    "You’re doing a master’s in physics, yet you believe in this bullshit" Maaz continued without giving any response.


    "you still believe in things like nightmares being just figments of your imagination. Don’t you think it’s possible there’s more to them?"


    I snorted, leaning back against the couch. "Maaz, I deal in mathematics, in facts. The supernatural? That’s just nonsense people use to explain what they don’t understand."


    He shrugged, unbothered by my dismissal. "You can believe or not; it’s up to you. But the veil between us and the supernatural is very thin. Once it’s opened, people start seeing things,imagining things worse Case scenario possession. In your case it''s nightmare ."


    His words sent a shiver down my spine, though I quickly masked it with a laugh. "What kind of nonsense are you spouting?"


    Maaz didn’t laugh or smile. His expression remained serious, his gaze unwavering. "You’re not eager to go to a mosque or a church," he said. "That’s fine. But those are the only places that can save you from going completely mad."


    I laughed harder this time, though it was more out of discomfort than amusement. "Save me from madness? Come on, Maaz. You sound like one of those conspiracy theorists. What’s next? Are you going to tell me ghosts are real?"


    "Believe what you want," he said, his tone calm but firm. "But if you’re so confident they don’t exist, why not agree to let me prove it to you?"


    I raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. "Prove it? How exactly do you plan to do that?"


    He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers interlocked. "I can open the door," he said simply.


    "The door?" I repeated, my skepticism clear.


    "The door between our world and theirs," he clarified. "If you’re right, nothing will happen. But if I’m right..." He trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.


    I rolled my eyes, though a part of me—deep down—felt a flicker of unease. "Fine," I said, crossing my arms. "Do what you can. Even if you can’t cure me, at least this might give me some late night entertainment."


    Maaz’s expression darkened slightly. "This isn’t entertainment," he said, his voice low. "Once the door is opened, there’s no returning from it."


    I smirked, trying to mask my growing unease. "I’m as ready as I’ll ever be," I said, feigning confidence.


    He studied me for a long moment, his gaze piercing, as if he were searching for any hint of hesitation. Finally, he nodded. "Very well," he said. "But remember, you asked for this."


    (**I blamed my past self,I should have never agreed with him. Looking back, it was a reckless decision, one I would regret for a long time. I should have gone to a church instead. Ahem, let’s continue the story before I lose track**)


    The room seemed to grow colder as he spoke, the air heavier. For the first time, I began to wonder if I’d just made a terrible mistake.


    Maaz grabbed my hand with a grip that shocked me. His hand felt like iron, far stronger than I expected from someone his size. I’m way bigger than him, but the force he exerted seemed unnatural, as if it came from somewhere beyond mere physical strength.


    He closed his eyes and began murmuring in strange language, his voice steady and rhythmic, like a chant. At first, nothing happened. I sat there, feeling awkward, the silence of the room only amplifying my growing embarrassment for him. What was this supposed to prove?


    But Maaz didn’t falter. His eyes remained shut, his words flowing in a language I didn’t understand, and then it happened.


    The lights in the room suddenly switched off. My first thought was load-shedding an inconvenience, sure, but nothing out of the ordinary. Yet before I could reach for my phone to turn on the flashlight, the air in the room changed.


    It wasn’t just dark it felt alive. The faintest breeze brushed against my skin, carrying with it a scent unlike anything I’d ever experienced. It was earthy yet ethereal, like the smell of a forest after rain, but far richer, more vibrant. It filled the room, wrapping around me like an invisible blanket. My chest, which had felt heavy with stress for weeks, suddenly felt light. My mind, clouded with sleeplessness and tension, cleared as if someone had pressed a reset button.


    Whatever Maaz was doing, it was working.


    For the first time in weeks, I felt a sense of peace, a calmness that was almost intoxicating. I wanted to stay in that moment forever, but then Maaz let go of my hand, and I saw it.


    At first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. But no, there it was standing in the middle of the room.


    A humanoid figure, towering at least eight feet tall, its presence dominating the space. It was dressed entirely in white, its robes flowing like they were made of light itself. My breath caught in my throat, and my heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst out of my chest.


    "What the fuck is that?" I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. I can''t even scream, my whole body froze.


    The figure didn’t move, didn’t speak, but its aura was overwhelming. It wasn’t threatening it didn’t need to be. Its sheer presence was enough to make me feel like an ant standing before a mountain.


    Maaz opened his eyes, his voice calm, almost soothing. "You can go now," he said, addressing the figure.


    And just like that, it vanished.


    The scent, the presence, the figure—all gone as if they had never been there. The lights flickered back on, bathing the room in their familiar glow, but everything felt... off. My head, which had felt so clear moments ago, was heavy again, the stress creeping back like an unwelcome guest.


    I stared at Maaz, my mind racing to make sense of what had just happened. "What the fuck was that?" I demanded, my voice shaking. "What the fuck did you just do?"


    Maaz leaned back on the couch, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. "That, my friend," he said, "is a jinn. The main man behind all occult and supernatural."


    My mind reeled. A jinn? No, that couldn’t be. There had to be a logical explanation. Maybe he’d hypnotized me, or maybe I was so sleep-deprived that I’d hallucinated the entire thing.


    "Jinn?" I repeated, my voice laced with disbelief. "You’re joking, right? This is some kind of psychological trick, isn’t it? Your dad was a psychologist, you said. This is just... some advanced hypnosis or something, right?"


    Maaz chuckled softly, his expression unreadable. "Believe what you want," he said. "But you saw it, didn’t you? Felt it?"


    I couldn’t deny that I had. But admitting it was another thing entirely. My hands trembled as I ran them through my hair, trying to process what had just happened.


    "Why... why would you do that?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.


    "Because," Maaz said, his tone serious now, "you needed to see that some things can’t be explained with logic or science. Sometimes, the answers lie beyond what we know."


    I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. My mind was too busy replaying the events, trying and failing to make sense of them. One thing was certain: my life would never be the same after this.


    Maaz leaned back on the couch, his smirk unwavering. "So, now that I’ve provided you proof of the supernatural, are you going to believe me?" he asked, his voice calm but laced with a subtle challenge.


    I opened my mouth to reply but no words came out. My mind was a whirlwind of confusion, fear, and disbelief. What had just happened defied everything I thought I knew about the world. I wasn’t ready to accept it, but I couldn’t deny it either.


    Instead of answering, I sat there in silence, trying to piece together a logical explanation for the events that had unfolded. The scent, the lights, the figure it all felt too real to be a hallucination, yet too impossible to be real.


    Maaz studied me for a moment before speaking again. "Not everything can be described by logic, my friend," he said, his tone softer now. "Some things exist beyond our understanding. So, what’s it going to be? Should I cure you which i might not know the cause of your problem, or would you prefer to visit a church or mosque?"


    I didn’t answer. My thoughts were too tangled, too chaotic to form a coherent response.


    Maaz stood up, walking over to the kitchen counter. He grabbed a glass, filled it with water, and murmured something under his breath—words in the strange language, soft and deliberate. The air seemed to hum faintly as he spoke, though I couldn’t tell if it was real or just my imagination playing tricks on me.


    He returned to the living room and held out the glass. "Drink this," he said, his expression serious. "It will help you sleep. We can talk more tomorrow—it’s Sunday, after all. Just remember to take a leave from work."


    I hesitated, staring at the glass in his hand. A part of me wanted to reject it outright, to laugh off this entire situation as some elaborate prank or psychological experiment. But another part of me—the part that had seen that towering figure, that had felt its overwhelming presence—knew better.


    What if Maaz wasn’t just some eccentric guy with a flair for theatrics? What if there really was something supernatural at play?


    My thoughts spiraled into darker territory. What if Maaz wasn’t helping me at all? What if he was the devil himself, luring me into some kind of trap? The irony of the thought wasn’t lost on me. I’d spent my entire life dismissing the idea of God, yet here I was, wondering if I’d just made a deal with the devil.


    "Drink it," Maaz said again, his voice breaking through my internal debate. His tone was steady, almost reassuring.


    I looked at the glass one more time. Screw it, I thought. If this guy was the devil, then I was already in too deep. I grabbed the glass and downed its contents in one go.


    The water was cool and refreshing, with a faint metallic taste that I couldn’t quite place. As soon as I swallowed, a wave of calm washed over me. The tension in my shoulders eased, and my racing thoughts began to slow.


    "Good," Maaz said, a satisfied smile on his face. "Now, go to bed. You’ll feel better tomorrow."


    I didn’t argue. I felt too tired, too drained to question him further. I stumbled back to my room, grabbed my phone, and sent a quick text to my colleagues, letting them know I wouldn’t be coming in to work.


    As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out. No tossing and turning, no restless thoughts just pure, uninterrupted sleep. For the first time in weeks, I felt at peace.