The Untold

Chapter 3: Between Two Worlds

Friday came, and Amira slipped from her bed in the middle of the night, her feet light on the palace floors.

As she made her way to the garden, the cool night air wrapped around her slim figure, calm and inviting.

The moon bathed the garden in silver, casting soft shadows on the stone paths. She tip-toed with purpose, past the familiar trees and shrubs.

She whispered into the night, "I'm here."

There was no voice that answered, no soft whisper in the air like she had hoped. But even in the silence, she could feel it—an invisible presence hovering just beyond her reach.

The air felt different, warmer, as if something was watching her, waiting with her.

Amira waited there until the first light of dawn began to paint the sky with soft streaks of gold. The jinn hadn't spoken, but she knew it was there, listening, even if it couldn't yet return.

She felt its pull, subtle yet constant, reminding her that this was only the beginning.

Amira's visits to the garden became a secret ritual, a routine she followed with a quiet determination. Every Friday, before dawn, she would slip out of the palace.

She skipped to the corners of the garden, her hazelnut locks, that cascaded down her back, swinging side to side.

Week after week, she whispered to the stillness, telling it everything she couldn't tell anyone else—the frustrations of her life, the pressure to be perfect, the endless tension between her parents.

The complex exterior architect of her garden resonated with the thoughts in her mind and brought her comfort.

About school... Oh there was so much to talk in terms of school. Her parents never had the expectation for her to bring home any good grades yet Amira still seemed to do exceptionally well. She aimed high and achieved what she strived for.

Maths. Amira hated maths and would whine and wail to the trees about it, even her complaints sounding poetic. She knew the spirit listened; she felt its nod in the wind.

As the months passed, the bond between them deepened. The garden, once a forbidden place, became her sanctuary, a place where she could breathe freely without the suffocating expectations of her 'perfect' life.

Her parents still argued—her father with his tired resignation, her mother with her sharp, bitter words—and it became harder for Amira to reconcile the two halves of her life.

The perfect princess they wanted her to be didn't exist here, in the moonlit garden, where she could just be.

Yet, even as her bond with the jinn grew stronger, it never fully crossed the threshold into her world.

She could feel its presence, but not its voice. The waiting, the silence, was difficult at times.

But she returned to the garden every week, trusting that the jinn's promise would eventually be fulfilled in a matter of just a few months.

The weeks drifted by, with each day pulling Amira closer to her sixteenth birthday and all the expectations that came with it. School had become a constant challenge.

Her grades, though not terrible, were slipping just below the scores she aimed for, and her focus was split between endless family obligations and the growing tension between her parents.

At school, Amira wore the image of a flawless princess: calm, collected, poised, just as she knew she was supposed to. But every glance at a slightly less-than-perfect grade or a teacher's raised brow made her stomach twist with worry.

Then there was her birthday. Her mother planned it as a grand event, the palace transformed into a glittering display, flowers in every corner and chandeliers casting soft golden light across the hall.

It was the kind of party that would be remembered—Amira's sixteenth, after all, deserved nothing less than a spectacle.

Her friends arrived in elegant dresses and tailored suits, exclaiming over the palace decor, marveling at the desserts, laughing together as if everything in life were simple.

Amira smiled and laughed with them, joining their stories about family trips and easy moments she couldn't quite relate to.

She envied how naturally they talked about their lives, while she silently guarded her own, carefully avoiding any details about her parents or the heavy silences that filled their home.

As the night drew on, the party began to wind down. Her friends left one by one, waving as they were escorted out, and the palace became still again.

Amira was left in the dim glow of empty rooms, her head filled with her friends' laughter and warm stories that felt so far removed from her own reality.

Suddenly, raised voices echoed down the hall. Her parents were at it again. She knew the signs—the lowered voices that grew sharper, the slight slam of a door, her mother's brittle tone laced with frustration.

This time, she didn't stay to listen. She slipped out of the palace and headed to the garden, letting the crisp night air calm her nerves as she navigated the moonlit paths.

The weight of her parents' arguments pressed on her chest, but here, under the stars, she could finally breathe.

She made her way to the old trees at the far end of the garden. The jinn's presence, though faint, lingered in the air, like a whisper of warmth brushing against her skin.

It had been a full year since she'd started coming to the garden, and though she hadn't seen or spoken to the jinn since that first night, she could still feel it there, watching over her from a distance.

"Just a few more weeks," she murmured, gazing up at the sky. "Then you'll be here. I just have to hold on."

But before she could retreat fully into the comforting silence, she heard footsteps crunching on the gravel behind her.

She turned around.

"Amira," her mother began, her voice tight. "What are you doing out here alone... at this hour?"