Morning didn't fix anything.
The house looked normal again, which somehow felt worse.
Ayaan called a local imam, Sheikh Rahmatullah.
The sheikh entered carefully, whispering protection verses.
The air thickened.
He paused in the living room.
"This house has a resident," he said.
Zoya asked,
"Paying rent?"
The sheikh sighed.
"A jinn."
Imran's face went pale.
"Nice jinn? Or murder-documentary jinn?"
The temperature dropped.
From the kitchen came a cough.
A very human cough.
Then a voice:
"Excuse me… rude to talk about someone while they are home."
Everyone froze.
A chair dragged itself out.
Nothing sat on it — but the cushion sank.
The voice continued, amused:
"I prayed with you. I listened to you complain. Very entertaining family."
Zoya whispered,
"The ghost has sarcasm."
The jinn chuckled.
"I prefer tenant."
The sheikh raised his hands.
"You do not belong here."
The air laughed.
"But you invited me with cheap rent and weak fear."
The walls bent inward slightly.
Windows darkened.
The jinn's voice softened.
"I don't kill quickly."
Pause.
"I like to stay."
The front door locked itself.
Click.
The jinn sighed happily.
"Now… let's really get to know each other."