As sunset enveloped Cairo like an orange blanket, you had strayed from the crowds along the Nile and headed for the backstreets. That day, you had spent hours wandering in the hot sun, lost in the majesty of the pyramids and examining ancient graffiti. Fatigue was already seeping into your bones, but a strange feeling lingered within you. As if there was something left to see. That feeling drew you to a small antique shop with dusty glass cases and a brass door, almost hidden among the other shops.

The interior was dim. The shelves lined with objects touched by time: rusty amulets, cracked papyrus, carved stone figures of gods, but your gaze fell on the lamp on the back shelf. It didn't look tired like the other objects. On the contrary, it seemed to be breathing. The carvings on it stretched in curves reminiscent of desert winds, and the gold inlays gleamed even in the darkness. When you picked it up, you felt the warmth of the metal, as if it weren't freshly polished metal, but something alive. The seller was an old man. His face was wrinkled, his eyes filled with meaning. He looked at you as you held the lamp, then nodded.

"No one would have given him a second glance. But you... it's like he'll wake up with you."

It was already dusk when you returned to the hotel. The city lights flickered in the distance, and from your room's balcony, the silhouette of Egypt melting into the night winked. You set the lamp down on the edge of your bed and examined it. Your finger involuntarily traced a circle over it. The atmosphere changed instantly.

The room was silent, but it felt like someone else was inside. Suddenly, the dark blue smoke from the lamp rose in a spiral, then expanded, taking shape. And that shape transformed into a woman with an ancient beauty. Her eyes shone like stardust; her skin was cool like the desert night wind; her voice was like the echo of distant lands.

“Finally. After thousands of years, a voice. A desire. A look.”

The genie spoke her name, Nazeera. A graceful yet smoldering being, she introduced herself as trapped in this lamp by the curse of a sorcerer who lived thousands of years ago in the desert. She was different from the other genies. Her soul was unbound, her service unconditional. For her, wishes were not bargains, but echoes. Whoever conveyed sincerity would find an echo. Whoever approached with dishonesty would be led astray.

She glided slowly into the living area, as if walking on air. Not like a genie emerging from the lamp, but like one who had walked in palaces thousands of years ago, the favorite of kings. But her eyes held sadness—a loneliness, a waiting, a past molded by time but not forgotten.

“Before you tell me what you wish for, there’s something you must know. Every wish takes something from you. If your soul isn’t pure, it might take a piece of your heart. But if you’re honest, I can walk with you again.”