"Damn this bike..." he cursed, glaring at the chain that had slipped off, forcing him to fix it. His shirt hung over his shoulders, droplets of water still falling from his hair—he looked as if he had just taken a bath. Sitting beside his bicycle, bare-chested, dressed in loose black pants and sandals, he muttered, "What am I supposed to do now?" staring in frustration at his predicament.

Just then, he heard something moving beside him. Fear gripped him instantly—so much so that he couldn’t even turn around to see what it was. Suddenly, he felt warm breaths brushing against his neck, as if the thing behind him was about to speak. His heart pounded wildly. Without hesitation, he abandoned his bicycle and bolted, screaming for his friends waiting at the bottom of the slope.

He ran barefoot, leaving behind his sandals and shirt, dashing like a madman without a second thought for his bike—or whatever had been next to him. His frantic cries echoed, "A jinn! A jinn! There’s a jinn!"

Meanwhile, at the bottom of the hill, his two friends were laughing so hard they could barely stand. One of them even collapsed onto the ground, gasping between bursts of laughter.

He kept running downhill, the moonlight illuminating the landscape. It was the middle of summer—the sky shimmered with bright stars, the moon beaming radiantly. The air was crisp, and the rhythmic hum of insects filled the silence.

Finally reaching his friends, he stood panting, his heart pounding against his ribs, his voice trembling as he pointed back up the hill. "I-It’s a jinn… up there!"

His friends, still doubled over with laughter, barely managed to speak. One of them wiped away tears and pointed up the hill, chuckling, "Look! It’s the jinn!"

He hesitantly turned to look—only to spot a familiar figure. He squinted, staring in disbelief, and then groaned.

It was the village fool—the idiot who wandered aimlessly all over the place.

"Damn that fool!" he muttered, sinking to the ground in exhaustion, while his friends erupted into another fit of laughter.

It was midnight in a quiet village, far from the noise of the city. The three of them continued their way back, his friends teasing him relentlessly about his reaction. He walked in silence, feeling utterly humiliated, while their laughter echoed through the night.

The scorching summer sun rose, and the chirping of birds filled the air. A new day had begun, and Basim was already in the fields, hurrying to finish his work before the heat intensified.

Basim was a young man in his mid-twenties, a farmer in his village, though he barely loved what he did. Despite despising life in the village, he carried out his work with utmost diligence. He was tall, with wheat-colored skin, childlike features, and short black hair. His physique was strong—his labor required great effort. He wore a straw hat, a brown long-sleeved shirt, and a blue cloth wrapped around his wrist, securing his phone so it wouldn’t fall from his pocket as he moved swiftly through the fields.

As he walked back and forth, he muttered to himself, "That fool will regret what he did," remembering how he had fled in terror the previous night, leaving his bicycle and belongings behind on the hill after returning from the small pond where the village boys gathered to cool off from the summer heat.

After finishing his work, Basim returned home, only to notice an unfamiliar, luxurious car parked in front of his neighbor’s house. He stared at it for a while before stepping inside.

Basim lived with his family, which consisted of five members—his parents and two younger brothers. After a quick shower, he took a sip of tea and then rushed out, determined to find the village fool.

He roamed the village in search of him, then returned to the slope. There, he finally found him.

"So, you’re here," Basim muttered, narrowing his eyes at the fool, who was busy fixing Basim’s bicycle, his shirt draped over his shoulders just as Basim had worn it before.

Basim gazed at him for a moment, then grabbed his wrist and tugged him forward. "Come with me. I have something to show you."

Without resistance, the fool followed quietly.

They walked together until they reached the village cemetery, where silence and tranquility reigned.

Basim fixed his gaze on the fool and smirked slyly. "I’ll show you the meaning of fear," he whispered.

He dragged him inside, leading him to an old, withered tree trunk within the cemetery. Forcing him to sit, he tied his hands, then pulled out a rope and secured him tightly to the trunk.

Finally, he stepped back, chuckling. "Stay here tonight and learn not to appear out of nowhere and scare me again." With that, he left, abandoning him there.

The fool, however, looked oddly entertained, as if he were playing a game of hide and seek with Basim, who was already walking away.

Time passed quickly, and the sun neared the horizon.

By the car that Basim had seen earlier, in front of his neighbor’s house, stood a young woman in her early twenties, speaking gently to a little boy who appeared to be her brother.

"What’s wrong, Laith? Why are you crying?" she asked, wiping his tears with a tender hand.

The boy sniffled, then muttered, "I… I left my toy in the cemetery when we visited Grandpa’s grave."

She smiled warmly. "Don’t cry. We can go back and get it."

Taking his hand, she led him toward the cemetery.

The young woman was tall, with long black hair and a delicate frame. Her sharp features gave her an air of quiet strength. She wore a black dress with white shoes, her hair cascading down her back.

They walked carefully, hesitating for a moment at the cemetery entrance. Both felt uneasy about going inside.

Swallowing her nerves, she forced a smile. "Come on," she said.

They stepped forward, filling the silence with idle chatter as they made their way to their grandfather’s grave. Coincidentally, it was right beside the old, withered tree trunk.

As they neared it, an eerie sound echoed—a strange chuckle.

At first, they thought it was just their imagination. Exchanging nervous glances, they tried to ignore it.

But then, the laughter grew clearer.

Terrified, Laith abruptly let go of his sister’s hand and bolted out of the cemetery, screaming in fright.

Meanwhile, Basim, who had decided to return and untie the fool—feeling a pang of guilt for what he had done—found himself nearly knocked over as Laith crashed into him, crying hysterically.

Basim glanced down at the frightened child before continuing toward the tree.

Maysa, on the other hand, was still cautiously approaching the source of the sound. Step by step, she followed it, her heart pounding in her chest.

She stopped for a moment, listening intently. It was indeed the sound of a choked, eerie laugh.

Trembling, she turned toward the tree trunk, debating what could be behind it.

Summoning her courage, she moved closer, step by step—until she finally peeked around the trunk.

The moment her eyes locked onto the fool’s face, he suddenly screamed.

She screamed back in sheer terror, stumbling backward—only to crash into Basim, who had just arrived.

She nearly fell, but Basim instinctively caught her in his arms.

For a moment, everything froze.

Their wide, dark eyes locked, both startled, both breathless.

"Who…?"