Zainab had never seen the world, but she felt its cruelty with every breath. She was born blind into a family that valued beauty above all else.
Her two sisters were admired for their captivating eyes and graceful figures, while Zainab was treated like a burden, a shameful secret kept behind closed doors. Her mother died when she was only five, and from that day on, her father changed. He became bitter, resentful, and cruel, especially toward her. He never called her by her name; he referred to her as « that thing. » He didn’t want her at the table during family meals or present when guests arrived. He believed she was cursed, and when Zainab turned twenty-one, he made a decision that finally shattered what little remained of his heart.
One morning, her father entered her small room where Zainab was sitting silently, her fingers gliding over the braille pages of an old, worn book, and placed a folded piece of cloth on her knees.
« You’re getting married tomorrow, » he said in a flat voice. Zainab froze. The words made no sense. Get married? To whom?
“He’s a beggar from the mosque,” her father continued. “You’re blind, he’s poor. A good match for you.” She felt the blood drain from her face. She wanted to scream, but no sound came from her mouth. She had no choice. Her father never gave her any.
The next day, she was married in a small, rushed ceremony. Of course, she never saw his face, and no one dared describe it to her. Her father pushed her toward the man and ordered her to take his arm. She obeyed, like a ghost trapped in her own body. People laughed behind their backs, whispering, « The blind girl and the beggar. » After the ceremony, her father gave her a small bag with a few clothes and pushed her back toward the man.
« Now it’s your problem, » he said, walking away without looking back.
The beggar, whose name was Yusha, silently guided her along the road. He didn’t speak for a long time. They arrived at a small, dilapidated shack on the edge of the village. The air smelled of damp earth and smoke.
“It’s nothing much,” Yusha said softly. “But you’ll be safe here.” She sat down on an old rug inside, holding back her tears. So this was her life now: a blind girl, married to a beggar, in a hut made of mud… and hope.
But something strange happened that first night.
Yusha prepared tea with delicate gestures. He gave her his own coat and slept near the door, like a guard dog protecting his queen. He spoke to her as if he truly cared for her: he asked her what stories she liked, what dreams she had, what dishes made her smile. No one had ever asked her these kinds of questions.
The days turned into weeks. Every morning, Yusha accompanied her to the river and described the sun, the birds, the trees, with such poetry that Zainab felt as if she could see them through his words. He sang while she washed clothes, and in the evenings, he told her stories of stars and faraway lands. She laughed for the first time in years. Her heart slowly opened. And, in that strange little hut, the unexpected happened: Zainab fell in love.
One afternoon, while reaching for his hand, she asked, « Have you always been a beggar? » He hesitated. Then he replied in a low voice, « I haven’t always been like this. » He said no more. And Zainab didn’t press him.
Until the day when.
She went to the market alone to buy vegetables. Yusha had shown her the way precisely, and she had memorized every step. But halfway there, someone grabbed her arm violently.
« Filthy blind man! » hissed a voice. It was her sister, Amina. « You’re still alive? You’re still playing the beggar’s wife? » Zainab felt tears welling up, but she didn’t break.
« I am happy, » she said.
Amina burst into cruel laughter. « You don’t even know what he looks like. He’s trash. Just like you. »
Then she whispered something to him that broke her.
« He’s not a beggar. Zainab, you’ve been lied to. »
Zainab stumbled home, lost. She waited until nightfall and, when Yusha returned, she asked the question again, but in a firm voice: « Tell me the truth. Who are you really? »
Then he knelt before her, took her hands, and said, « You shouldn’t have learned this so soon. But I can’t lie to you anymore. »
Her heart was pounding wildly.
He took a deep breath.
« I am not a beggar. I am the son of the emir. »
Zainab’s world began to spin. « I am the emir’s son. » She tried to catch her breath, to understand what she had just heard. Her memory replayed each moment of their lives: his kindness, his quiet strength, his stories too vivid to be those of a mere beggar… and suddenly, everything became clear. He had never been a beggar. Her father hadn’t married her off to a poor man, but to a prince disguised in rags.
She removed her hands from his, took a step back, and asked in a trembling voice, « Why? Why did you let me believe you were a beggar? »
Yusha sat up straight, her voice calm but filled with emotion. « Because I wanted someone who would see me—not my wealth, not my title. Someone pure. A love that can’t be bought or forced. You are everything I’ve ever wanted, Zainab. »
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