Zainab had never seen the world, yet she felt its cruelty with every breath. She was born blind into a family that prized beauty above all else. Her two sisters were admired for their sparkling eyes and graceful figures, while Zainab was treated as a burden—a shameful secret hidden from the world.
Her mother died when she was just five, and after that, her father changed. He became bitter, harsh, and cruel, especially toward Zainab. He never called her by her name; she was “that thing.” She wasn’t allowed at the family table or in the presence of guests. She felt cursed. By the time she turned twenty-one, she faced a decision that could shatter what little remained of her already broken heart.
One morning, her father entered her small room where Zainab sat quietly, tracing the Braille pages of a worn-out book. He left a folded cloth on her lap.
“You’re getting married tomorrow,” he said flatly.
Zainab froze. Marry? With whom?
“He is a beggar from the mosque,” her father continued. “You are blind, he is poor. A perfect match.”
She wanted to scream, but no sound came. Her father had given her no choice.
The next day, a quick and modest ceremony was held. She never saw the man’s face, and no one dared describe it. Her father pushed her toward him and told her to take his arm. She obeyed like a ghost in her own body. The whispers behind her back were cruel: “The blind girl and the beggar.” After the ceremony, her father handed her a small bag of clothes and left, saying, “Now it’s your problem.”
The man, Yusha, led her silently down the road to a small, broken hut at the edge of the village. The air smelled of damp earth and smoke.
“It’s not much,” he said softly, “but you’ll be safe here.”
He sat on the old mat inside, holding back his own tears. This was now her life—a blind girl married to a beggar, living in a fragile hut made of mud and hope.
But that first night, something extraordinary happened.
Yusha made tea with gentle hands. He gave her his own coat and slept near the door, guarding her like a loyal protector. He spoke to her with care, asking about her favorite stories, her dreams, the foods that made her smile. No one had ever asked her such things before.
Days became weeks. Every morning, Yusha accompanied her to the river, describing the sun, the birds, the trees, with such poetry that Zainab began to feel she could see them through his words. He sang while she did chores and told stories of stars and distant lands at night. For the first time in years, Zainab laughed. Her heart began to open. In that humble little hut, Zainab fell in love.
One afternoon, while walking through the market alone, someone grabbed her arm violently.
“Blind rat!” spat a voice. It was Yusha’s sister, Aminah. “Still alive? Still pretending to be a beggar’s wife?”
Zainab stood tall, tears welling.
“I am happy,” she said.
Aminah sneered, “You don’t even know what he looks like. Trash. Just like you.”
And then, the secret was revealed:
“He is not a beggar. Zainab, you’ve been lied to.”
Confused, Zainab waited until Yusha returned that evening. She asked firmly: “Tell me the truth. Who are you really?”
Yusha knelt before her, took her hands, and said:
“I shouldn’t have told you yet. But I cannot lie any longer. I’m not a beggar. I am the son of the Emir.”
Zainab’s world spun. Her father had married her not to a pauper, but to royalty disguised in rags.
“Why did you let me believe otherwise?” she asked.
“Because I wanted someone who would see me for who I truly am, not my wealth or title,” he said. “Someone pure. Someone whose love is not bought or forced. You are that person, Zainab.”
That night, Zainab understood the true meaning of love—not for appearances, not for wealth, but for the soul. She was now a princess—not for her looks, but for her heart.
The next day, a royal carriage arrived. The crowd was stunned to see the prince returning with a blind girl. Yusha introduced her: “This is my wife, the woman I chose, the woman who saw my soul when no one else could.”
The Queen embraced Zainab: “Then she is my daughter.”
No longer “that thing” hidden in the dark, Zainab was Princess Zainab, loved for who she was, strong in her own right, and finally accepted into a world that had once rejected her.
In the palace, Zainab learned that true power comes from authenticity, and that love is measured by the heart, not appearances. With Yusha by her side, she transformed not only her life but the court itself, showing that strength, kindness, and courage outweigh wealth and privilege.
She had finally found her place in the world—not as a shadow, but as a woman whose soul shone brighter than any crown.