The Genie

Chapter 1

18 year old Ethan slouched against the bathroom counter, the mirror glaring back at him like an unrelenting judge. His skinny frame, barely filling out his oversized hoodie, felt more like a mockery than a blank canvas. He tugged at the fabric, hoping somehow it would shrink around him and reveal a stronger, bulkier version of himself. Instead, it hung limply, accentuating his narrow shoulders and flat chest.

He sighed, leaning closer to inspect his face. Smooth, pale skin stared back, free of even the faintest hint of stubble. Ethan envied the guys at school who carried themselves with the effortless confidence of five o’clock shadows and biceps that strained their sleeves. By contrast, he looked like a boy trapped in perpetual adolescence.

He ran a hand through his straight, chestnut hair, pushing it back in frustration. “Why can’t I just look… better?” he muttered, the words barely audible over the quiet hum of the house. He hated that he cared so much, but the constant reminders—passing glances, whispered comments, the occasional joke—were impossible to ignore.

At school, Ethan blended into the background, and that was both a relief and a curse. People rarely noticed him, but when they did, it was never for the reasons he wanted. He wasn’t ugly, not exactly, but there was nothing striking about him either. Just plain. And plain was the last thing Ethan wanted to be.

His phone buzzed on the counter, interrupting his self-critique. A notification from Instagram popped up: another post from James, a senior who spent his afternoons at the gym. Ethan clicked on the picture—James flexing in a tank top, his muscles sharp and defined under the fluorescent lights. Hundreds of likes and comments flooded the post, each one a reminder of what Ethan wasn’t.

He tossed the phone aside, feeling the familiar pang of envy creep into his chest. “I’ll never look like that,” he whispered, the words heavier than he intended.

That evening, Ethan wandered into the attic. His mom had asked him to find an old box of winter clothes, but it was more of an excuse to escape the quiet tension in the house. The attic was dimly lit, with beams of fading sunlight slicing through the dusty air. Boxes and forgotten relics of the past crowded the space, their presence oddly comforting in its stillness.

He rifled through a pile of mismatched items—books, a broken lamp, a stack of yellowing photographs. As he reached for another box, his hand brushed against something cold and metallic. Curious, he shifted a heavy blanket aside to reveal a small, ornate chest. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen, with intricate carvings that looked both ancient and otherworldly.

His heart quickened as he opened the lid. Inside, nestled among soft, dark velvet, was an old, tarnished lamp. It looked straight out of a storybook, with a curved spout and an elegant handle. For a moment, Ethan just stared, unsure if he should laugh at the absurdity of it or marvel at the craftsmanship.

He picked it up, feeling the cool metal against his fingers. “What the hell is this?” he murmured, turning it over in his hands.

Dust clung to its surface, and instinctively, Ethan wiped it with his sleeve. The attic seemed to shiver around him, the air growing heavy. Ethan froze, his grip tightening on the lamp as a faint, warm glow began to emanate from its surface.

“What the—”

Before he could finish, a sudden burst of light filled the room, and the dusty air swirled into motion. Ethan stumbled back, his pulse racing. The attic, once still and silent, now buzzed with an energy that felt alive.

And then, the light coalesced into a figure.

Ethan’s breath caught as he stared, wide-eyed, at the impossible sight before him. The figure smiled, their form flickering like firelight.

“Well, well,” they said, their voice smooth and unearthly. “You’ve got quite the wishful heart, don’t you?”