The Untold

Chapter 15: They Know

I slouched deeper into the couch at Luka's apartment, my thoughts a tangled mess as he explained the latest development.

"The guy's name is Ian Jaziri," Luka said, sitting cross-legged on the floor, his laptop balanced precariously on his knee. "But here's the thing—he's an exchange student. Only here every other semester. He left the country yesterday, probably headed back to his hometown."

I blinked, barely registering his words. Knowing the name wasn't what I'd exactly expected, brought me a sense of relief. "So... he can't be the stalker."

"Exactly," Luka confirmed. "It's strange because timelines don't match up but he's the only possible suspect. I mean, I could try to get you in touch with one of his friends, but that might take a while."

Raven groaned dramatically, throwing her head back against the couch. "Great. Another dead end."

Cerise was focused on her phone, her fingers flying over the screen. "I'm running his social media, just in case. You never know if someone left a clue."

The conversation buzzed around me, but it felt like static in my ears. I wasn't even sure why I was here anymore.

The whole "stalker" thing felt less and less important. 'Ian' was just another name to cross off the list, another wrong turn in this ridiculous investigation.

My mind wasn't on him—or any guy, for that matter.

It was on the whispers. The name on the mirror. The memory of the wind answering me as a child.
The jinn.

The idea of it—the possibility that they were real, that he was real—clawed at my brain like an itch I couldn't scratch.

My friends were all focused on this logical, tangible explanation, chasing down names and suspects.

But none of them knew the truth about me. About what I'd seen. About what I'd heard.

The jinn weren't just childhood fantasies. They couldn't be. Not when everything felt so real.

I stared blankly at the wall, my stomach churning. I didn't want to investigate anymore. I didn't want to play detective or analyze vlogs or search student lists.

I wanted to go home. I wanted to escape this city, escape these memories, escape this... thing that was happening to me.

A shrill ringtone snapped me out of my thoughts. My phone buzzed on the coffee table, the screen lighting up with a name that made my stomach drop.

Mom.

My heart sank as I picked up the phone, bracing myself. "Hi, mom."
"Amira," her voice was calm, too calm. "How are you?"

"I'm good," I lied, pacing to the corner of the room where no one could overhear. "What's up?"

There was a pause, and then she said it. "Your father and I, there's something that we need to urgently discuss with you."

My blood ran cold.

"After everything we've talked about, Amira? This is a serious matter and I don't think you get the importance of it." Her voice wasn't angry, but it was firm, laced with that familiar tone of disappointment that always cut deeper than yelling ever could.

I pressed my free hand to my temple, closing my eyes. "I-I wasn't doing anything wrong. I swear."

"We're not mad," she said, and I could hear my dad murmuring in the background. "We just want to talk. About everything. You know how worried we get about you. And this..." She sighed. "This isn't the life we sent you out for honey."

"I know," I whispered, my throat tight.

"Amira," she added, her voice softening, "we care for you... we really do. But this is something that needs to be addressed."
I didn't know what to say. My parents weren't the type to lose their temper, but their quiet disapproval was always so much worse.

"We'll talk about this when you come home... just please Amira, you know who you are-"

"-Please. Not now, I know... I'll call you later." I muttered.

"Oh and one last thing-"

I hung up.

This was the most I could tolerate.

I felt like I was sixteen again, that same helpless girl standing at the airport as they sent me off to boarding school, too ashamed to fight back.

I stared at my phone. All I'd ever wanted was to prove to them—and to myself—that I could be normal.

That I could let go of the past and live a life free of shadows and whispers. But no matter how hard I tried, the past always seemed to find me.

The past of who I was and the dangers that were present in every one of my shadows.

"Everything okay?" Carolina asked gently, pulling me out of my thoughts. She must have noticed the look on my face.

"Yeah," I said quickly, shoving my phone into my pocket. "Just my parents."

She nodded, not pushing further, but her eyes lingered on me like she knew I was hiding something.

Between the whispers, the memories, and now my parents dragging everything back to the surface, I wasn't sure how much more of this I could take.

"Amira," Luka called from across the room, "we're ordering food. You want anything?"

"No, thanks," I replied, my voice hollow.

I needed to get out of here. Away from the noise, the questions, the relentless pull of the past. But no matter how far I went, I knew it wouldn't matter.

Because the past wasn't done with me yet.