[Setting: A rooftop in Lahore after Maghrib. The call to prayer has just finished echoing. The sky is a hazy purple. Ahmed is spraying a heavy dose of rose attar on his wrists. Bilal enters with a soda bottle in hand.]
Bilal:
(coughs dramatically)
Yaar, Ahmed! What are you doing? Trying to kill mosquitoes or call the angels?
Ahmed:
(serious tone)
Bilal, bhai, it’s rose attar. But this is the last time I’m putting it on after Maghrib. Amma says it attracts jinn. Some of them fall in love and follow you around.
Bilal:
(laughs)
What is this? A perfume ad for Jinn-e-Glamour? “Wear it and summon a soulmate from the other dimension!”
Ahmed:
I’m serious, bro. There’s a story from my cousin’s neighborhood in Gujranwala. A guy wore perfume after sunset, and next day he started talking to himself—laughing alone, walking barefoot, even reciting poetry to the air. Turns out, a jinn had fallen for him!
Bilal:
Wow. So basically… the jinn was a literature major?
Ahmed:
Don’t joke, Bilal. Amma always says the air changes after Maghrib. It becomes… heavy. That’s when these beings roam freely. Why else do elders tell kids to stay inside?
Bilal:
Okay, hold on. Let’s break this down. You’re telling me a bottle of ittar, made by humans, using flower oils, has magical attraction powers—but only after sunset?
Ahmed:
Exactly. It’s not about the ittar, it’s about the timing. Maghrib is when the unseen world becomes active. You haven’t heard that Hadith?
Bilal:
I have, and the advice about keeping kids indoors at Maghrib is more about safety—practical stuff like predators, insects, maybe even illnesses. Back in the day, no lights, no proper housing—it made sense.
Ahmed:
So you’re saying there’s no supernatural logic behind it?
Bilal:
I’m saying maybe these stories evolved to explain things people didn’t understand—like mental health. That Gujranwala guy might have had schizophrenia. But instead of treatment, people blamed a jinn.
Ahmed:
But what about all the real stories? My khala swears she saw a woman vanish into thin air after putting on sandalwood oil.
Bilal:
Khala also believes her cat is possessed because it stares at the fridge too long.
Ahmed:
Bro, cats see things we can’t!
Bilal:
Cats stare at walls, fridges, ceilings—it’s called being a cat. They’re weird. Doesn’t mean they’re tuned into FM Jinnistan.
Ahmed:
You know, you always laugh, but when it happens to you, you’ll remember my words.
Bilal:
Sure. If a jinn falls for me, I’ll give her your number. You’re the one who believes in interdimensional romance.
Ahmed:
No, no—jinns don’t work like that. They’re very possessive. If one falls in love with you, it’ll follow you forever. No forwarding allowed.
Bilal:
Then I guess I’m safe. I wear Axe body spray—no self-respecting jinn would go for that.
Ahmed:
(grinning)
Maybe your lack of faith keeps them away.
Bilal:
Or maybe logic is the best exorcism.
Ahmed:
Still… I’m skipping the perfume for now. No point taking chances. Romance is hard enough without invisible lovers.
Bilal:
Fair enough. But just so you know—if you ever float six inches off the ground, I will call a psychiatrist before I call a pir.
Ahmed:
Deal. And if I see you reciting poetry to your mirror at midnight, I’ll assume it’s not a girl—it’s Gul-e-Jinn.
[Both laugh as a breeze rolls across the rooftop. The sound of chai cups clinking below signals it’s time to go downstairs.]
Bilal (muttering):
Still smells like a floral bakery up here though…
Ahmed:
That’s the smell of danger, my friend.
Science Vs Superstition 
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