In a small village, where beauty was prized above all else, Zainab was born blind into a family that valued appearances. Her two sisters, blessed with charming eyes and graceful figures, were the pride of their parents, while Zainab was treated as a burden—an embarrassing secret hidden behind closed doors. From her earliest memories, she felt the sting of rejection, especially after the death of her mother when she was just five years old. Her father’s demeanor changed drastically; he became bitter, resentful, and cruel, particularly towards her. He never called her by her name, instead referring to her as “that thing,” believing she was cursed and wanting nothing to do with her.
As Zainab grew, her father’s disdain only deepened. He would not allow her to join the family at mealtimes or be present when guests visited. She lived in a world of isolation, longing for acceptance and love. On her 21st birthday, her father made a decision that would alter the course of her life forever. One morning, he entered her small room, where she sat quietly, touching the pages of an old braille book. He dropped a folded cloth in her lap and coldly announced, “You’re getting married tomorrow.” Zainab was stunned. Marrying? Who was she to marry?
Her father continued without emotion, “He’s a beggar from the mosque. You’re blind; he’s poor. You make a good match.” Zainab felt her face drain of color. She wanted to scream, but no sound came out. Her father had never given her choices. The next day, she was thrust into a small, rushed wedding ceremony. She never saw the face of her husband, and no one dared to describe him to her. Her father pushed her towards the man, instructing her to take his arm. Zainab obeyed, feeling like a ghost trapped in her own body, while the guests snickered, whispering, “The blind girl and the beggar.”
After the ceremony, her father handed her a small bag containing a few belongings and shoved her towards her new husband. “Now it’s your problem,” he said, leaving without a backward glance. The beggar, named Yusha, guided her silently along the path to a small, dilapidated hut on the edge of the village. The hut smelled of damp earth and smoke. “It’s not much,” Yusha said gently, “but you’ll be safe here.” Zainab sat on an old mat inside, holding back tears. This was her new life—a blind girl married to a beggar, living in a hut made of mud and hope.
However, something unexpected began to unfold from that first night. Yusha prepared tea with gentle hands, offered her his coat, and slept by the door like a guardian dog, watching over his queen. He spoke to her as if he truly cared, asking about her favorite stories, dreams, and the foods that made her smile. No one had ever asked her those things before. Days turned into weeks, and Yusha accompanied her to the river each morning, describing the sun, the birds, and the trees with such poetry that Zainab felt she could see through his words. He sang while she washed clothes, and at night, he told her stories of stars and distant lands. For the first time in years, she laughed, and her heart began to open. In that small, strange hut, Zainab fell in love.
One afternoon, while holding his hand, she asked, “Were you always a beggar?” Yusha hesitated before softly replying, “Not always.” But he didn’t elaborate, and Zainab didn’t press him. Until one day, while shopping for vegetables at the market, someone violently grabbed her arm. “Blind rat!” spat a voice. It was her sister, Aminah. “Are you still pretending to be the wife of a beggar?” Tears threatened to spill from Zainab’s eyes, but she stood firm. “I’m happy,” she declared. Aminah laughed cruelly. “You don’t even know what he looks like. He’s trash—just like you.” Then she whispered something that shattered Zainab’s heart: “He’s not a beggar, Zainab. They lied to you.”
Confused, Zainab stumbled home. That night, when Yusha returned, she confronted him with determination. “Tell me the truth. Who are you really?” Yusha knelt before her, taking her hands in his. “You weren’t supposed to know yet, but I can’t lie to you anymore.” Her heart raced as he continued, “I’m not a beggar. I’m the son of the Emir.” Zainab’s world spun as she processed his words. “The son of the Emir.” She struggled to breathe, trying to understand what she had just heard. Memories of their time together flooded her mind—his kindness, his quiet strength, the richness of his stories that seemed too vivid for a mere beggar. Now it all made sense; he had never been a beggar. Her father hadn’t married her off to a beggar—he had unknowingly married her to a disguised prince.
Stepping back, she asked, her voice trembling, “Why? Why did you make me believe you were a beggar?” Yusha stood up, his voice calm yet filled with emotion. “Because I wanted someone to see me—not my wealth, not my title, just me. The real me. Someone pure. Someone whose love couldn’t be bought or forced. You were everything I prayed for, Zainab.” She sank to the floor, her legs too weak to support her. Her heart battled between love and anger. Why hadn’t he told her sooner? Why let her believe she was discarded?
Yusha knelt beside her again. “I never meant to hurt you,” he said. “I came to the village in disguise because I was tired of suitors who loved the throne but not the man. I heard about a blind girl rejected by her own father. I watched you from afar for weeks before I proposed to your father, dressed as a beggar. I knew he would accept because he wanted to rid himself of you.” Tears streamed down Zainab’s cheeks as the pain of her father’s rejection mingled with the disbelief that someone would go to such lengths just to find a heart like hers. She didn’t know what to say, so she simply asked, “And now? What happens now?”
Yusha took her hand gently. “Now you come with me. To my world. To the palace.” Her heart leaped. “But I’m blind… how can I be a princess?” He smiled. “You already are, my princess.” The next morning, a royal carriage arrived at the hut. Guards dressed in black and gold bowed to Yusha and Zainab as they stepped out. Zainab clung to Yusha’s arm as the carriage made its way to the palace.
Upon arrival, a crowd awaited them, astonished to see the lost prince return—yet even more surprised to see him with a blind girl. Yusha’s mother, the queen, approached, studying Zainab with inquisitive eyes. Zainab bowed respectfully, and Yusha stood beside her, declaring, “She is my wife. The woman I chose. The one who saw my soul when no one else could.” The queen paused, then stepped forward and embraced Zainab. “Then she is my daughter,” she said.
Zainab almost fainted with relief. Yusha squeezed her hand and whispered, “I told you, you’re safe now.” That night, in her room in the palace, Zainab stood by the window, listening to the sounds of the royal gardens. Her life had changed in a single day. She was no longer “that thing” locked away in a dark room; she was a wife, a princess, a woman loved not for her beauty but for her soul.
Yet, even amidst her newfound happiness, a shadow lingered in her heart—the hatred from her father. She understood that the world would not easily accept her, that the court would murmur and mock her blindness, and that enemies would arise within the palace walls. But for the first time, she did not feel small; she felt powerful.
The next day, she was summoned to court, where nobles and leaders had gathered. Some scoffed at her entrance with Yusha, but she held her head high. Then, unexpectedly, Yusha stood before everyone and declared, “I will not accept the crown until my wife is accepted and honored in this palace. If she is not, I will leave with her.” Gasps echoed through the hall. Zainab’s heart raced as she looked at him. He had already given everything for her.
“Would you renounce the throne for me?” she whispered. He gazed at her with passion in his eyes. “I did once. I would do it again.” The queen rose. “Then, let it be known,” she said, “from this day forth, Zainab is not only your wife. She is Princess Zainab of the Royal House. Anyone who disrespects her disrespects the crown.”
With those words, silence fell over the hall. Zainab’s heart pounded—not with fear but with determination. She knew her life would continue to change, but now, it would be on her own terms. She was no longer a shadow; she was a woman who had found her place in the world. Most importantly, for the first time, she did not need to be seen for her beauty—only for the love she carried in her heart.
