Schrödinger’s Djinn

Dr. Arvind Kapoor was a physicist obsessed with quantum mechanics. His basement lab was a chaotic mess of wires, circuits, and coffee-stained research papers. Dim blue lighting gave the room an eerie glow, and the air smelled like burnt metal and too many late nights.

At the centre of it all was his latest experiment: a steel-framed contraption housing a sealed box hooked up to a bunch of monitors and sensors. This was Arvind’s attempt to bring Schrödinger’s famous cat experiment to life—but with real quantum mechanics. His fingers flew across the keyboard, checking data as it streamed in.

The setup was elaborate. The box had infrared cameras, motion sensors, and a Geiger counter wired into a computer. Inside, there was a vial of cyanide, a weak radioactive isotope, and a mechanical trigger. If the isotope decayed, the detector would release the poison. If it didn’t, nothing would happen. According to quantum theory, until someone looked inside, the cat would be both alive and dead at the same time. Of course, Arvind wasn’t reckless—he used a robotic cat instead. It was programmed to act like a real one, but without the moral dilemma.

He adjusted his glasses and sighed. “If only I could observe without collapsing the wave function,” he muttered.

Arvind had no patience for superstition. But when he stumbled upon an old brass lamp at a flea market, he bought it for fun. It was dusty and unimpressive—nothing like the shiny ones in fairy tales. Amused, he placed it on his bookshelf next to his quantum mechanics books. On a whim, he rubbed it.

A burst of blue smoke exploded from the lamp, sending papers flying. His monitors flickered, displaying weird symbols before returning to normal. From the swirling mist, a figure appeared—nothing like the djinn of legends.

Zaffar, the Djinn of Possibilities, wasn’t wearing robes, didn’t have glowing eyes, and certainly wasn’t trapped in the past. He was humanoid but slightly see-through, flickering like a bad hologram. His face shifted constantly, showing different expressions at the same time. His whole body shimmered unpredictably, as though stuck in his own quantum experiment. His deep-set eyes, black as voids, seemed to absorb light instead of reflecting it.

“Ah, finally!” Zaffar stretched, his form briefly duplicating before settling. “I am Zaffar, the Djinn of Possibilities. You freed me, so you get one wish.”

Arvind, unimpressed, adjusted his glasses. “You don’t look like a typical djinn.”

“That’s because I exist in a quantum superposition, my dear scientist. Unlike my more traditional cousins, I don’t follow boring old classical physics.”

Arvind smirked. “Alright. I wish for infinite knowledge.”

Zaffar groaned. “Oh no, not another scientist! The last one who wished for that ended up stuck between knowing everything and knowing nothing.”

“Sounds like Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle!” Arvind said excitedly.

“Exactly. We now call it the ‘Heisenberg Incident.’ So no, no infinite knowledge. Pick something else.”

Arvind thought for a moment, then grinned. “Fine. I wish for a wish that is both granted and not granted at the same time.”

Zaffar froze. His form flickered wildly. “Oh, come on. You just had to make it complicated.”

Before Arvind could respond, the lamp started vibrating. The air crackled. His lab flickered between two versions of itself—one where it existed, one where it had never been built. His laptop, books, and coffee mug began phasing in and out of reality.

“What’s happening?” Arvind yelled.

“Your wish broke reality! Right now, you both have and haven’t received your wish. Congratulations, you’ve created Schrödinger’s Nightmare.”

A wormhole spiralled open in the air. The lab twisted, stretching like taffy. Arvind found himself caught in a swirling time loop, watching past and future versions of himself coexisting. Einstein’s theories played out before his eyes—time stretched, looped, and rewound. He saw himself making the wish, regretting the wish, and then somehow not making the wish at all.

“Fantastic. Now we’re messing with relativity too!” he shouted.

Zaffar shrugged. “Quantum mechanics has a way of dragging everything else into the mess. Time is just another dimension, after all.”

Gravitational waves rippled through the room like ocean tides. A tiny black hole formed, tugging at reality itself.

“We need to fix this before we get sucked into a singularity!” Arvind yelled.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Zaffar said. “Once, a philosopher wished to exist outside of time. Poor guy never saw it coming.”

Arvind groaned. “Fine! I wish for everything to go back to normal!”

In an instant, the chaos stopped. Gravity returned, and Arvind landed in his chair. His lab was exactly as it had been—no wormholes, no black holes, and no quantum paradoxes. The robotic cat sat motionless, and the lamp rested quietly on the shelf.

Zaffar crossed his arms. “There. No more paradoxes. Next time, just wish for money like a normal person.”

With a swirl of smoke, he vanished into the lamp.

Arvind stared at it for a long time before carefully placing it back on the shelf. He had a feeling this wouldn’t be his last encounter with Zaffar. But next time, he’d come prepared—with even bigger questions.

He leaned back and rubbed his temples. “That was… a lot. I should write this down.” He opened a new document on his computer—only to see the words appearing and disappearing at the same time. He groaned. “Oh no… not again.”

And so began his next great obsession—not just with quantum mechanics, but with the very nature of reality itself. If wishes could exist in a superposition, what about the universe? One thing was certain: he was going to find out. Even if it took him to the very edge of time itself.

Over the next few weeks, Arvind couldn’t shake the encounter. The lamp sat on his bookshelf, looking as harmless as any ordinary object, but he knew better. He resisted the urge to test it again. Yet, deep inside, curiosity gnawed at him.

One evening, unable to resist, he grabbed the lamp. “Alright, Zaffar. Let’s talk.”

Smoke billowed again, and the djinn materialized with a dramatic sigh. “You scientists never learn, do you?”

Arvind folded his arms. “I have questions.”

Zaffar grinned. “And I have answers. But let’s make this fun. No more paradoxes, though.”

“Fine,” Arvind said. “Tell me—if reality can be both observed and unobserved at the same time, does that mean we exist in multiple states?”

Zaffar chuckled. “You’re catching on. Every choice you make branches into different timelines. Every unmade decision exists as a possibility.”

Arvind leaned forward, fascinated. “So, there’s a version of me that never found this lamp?”

“Several,” Zaffar said. “One where you walked past it. One where you bought it but never rubbed it. One where you sold it on an online platform for ten bucks.”

Arvind laughed. “And one where I wished for money like a normal person?”

“Yes! And that Arvind is on a beach somewhere, drinking mojitos. But you? You had to mess with physics.”

They talked late into the night, discussing paradoxes, the nature of free will, and whether or not socks actually disappear into alternate dimensions in washing machines.

As dawn broke, Arvind yawned. “Alright, Zaffar. No more wishes today. But I have a feeling we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

Zaffar smirked. “Oh, absolutely.”

With that, he disappeared back into the lamp, leaving Arvind alone with endless possibilities—and a very full coffee mug. The adventure had only just begun.

THE END