Zainab had never seen the world, but she could feel its cruelty with every breath she took. She was born blind into a family that valued beauty above all else. Her two sisters were admired for their bewitching eyes and slender bodies, while Zainab was treated as a nuisance, a shameful secret they kept to themselves.

Her mother died when she was just five years old, and from then on, her father changed. He became cold, bitter, and cruel, especially to her. He never called her by name; he always referred to her as “that thing.” He wouldn’t let her sit at the table during meals, or be around when there were visitors. He said she was cursed. And when Zainab turned 21, he made a decision that would shatter what little remained of her heart.

 

One morning, her father entered her small room where she was sitting silently, reading an old, battered Braille book with her fingers. Without saying much, he placed a piece of cloth on her lap.

“You’re getting married tomorrow,” he said tersely, without emotion.

Zainab froze. Getting married? To whom?

“He’s a beggar from the mosque,” he continued. “You’re blind, he’s poor. You make a good couple.”

Zainab felt as if the blood was draining from her body. She wanted to scream, but she couldn’t. Her father never gave her a choice.

The next day, she was married in a brief and joyless ceremony. She never saw his face, and no one described what he looked like. Her father simply pushed her toward the man and told her to take his arm. She did so, like a lost soul, while people murmured, “The blind woman and the beggar.”

Afterward, her father gave her a small bag with a few changes of clothes and pushed her again.

“Now it’s your problem,” he said, and left without turning around.

The man, whose name was Yusha, silently guided her along the path. They walked to a humble hut on the edge of the village. It smelled of wet earth and smoke.

“It’s not much,” Yusha said in a soft voice. “But you’ll be safe here.”

Zainab sat on an old mat, holding back tears. This was her new life. Blind, married to a beggar, in a hut made of mud and hope.

But that night, something changed.

Yusha made her tea with tender hands. He gave her his coat and slept by the door, like a guardian. He spoke to her sweetly, asking her what stories she liked, what dreams she had, what food made her smile. No one had ever asked her these things before.

Days passed, then weeks. Yusha took her to the river every morning, describing the sun, the trees, and the birds with such poetry that Zainab could “see” them in her mind. He sang to her while she washed clothes, and at night he told her tales of stars and distant lands.

Zainab laughed again. Her heart slowly opened. And in that humble hut, Zainab fell in love.

One afternoon, as she held his hand, he asked:

“Were you always a beggar?”

He hesitated.

“Not always,” he replied softly.

But he said no more. And Zainab did not insist.

Until one day she went to the market alone. Yusha had given her precise directions, and she memorized them well. But halfway there, someone grabbed her arm tightly.

“Blind rat!” a voice spat. It was her sister Aminah.

“Are you still alive? Still playing the beggar’s wife?”

Zainab straightened with dignity.

“I’m happy,” she said.

Aminah sneered.

“Happy? You don’t even know what he looks like. He’s trash. Just like you.”

And then she whispered something that chilled her soul:

“He’s not a beggar, Zainab. They lied to you.”

Zainab staggered home. That night, when Yusha arrived, she confronted him.

“Tell me the truth. Who are you?”

Yusha knelt before her and took her hands.

“I didn’t want you to know yet. But I can’t lie anymore,” he said.

He took a breath and blurted out:

“I’m not a beggar. I’m the Emir’s son.”

Zainab’s world reeled. She remembered every gesture, every word, every story… It all fit together. He wasn’t a beggar. He was a prince in disguise.

“Why did you let me believe you were poor?” she asked, her heart beating with fury and love at the same time.

“Because I wanted someone to love me for who I am, not for my wealth or my title. I wanted someone pure. I watched you for weeks. I knew your father would agree to marry you off if he thought I was a hindrance. He did it to get rid of you. But I did it to find you.”

Zainab wept. Her father’s rejection mingled with Yusha’s deep love. It was all too much.

“And now?” she asked, her voice breaking.

“Now you’re coming with me to the palace.”

“But I’m blind. How can I be a princess?”

Yusha smiled.

“You’re already

 

She’s my princess.

The next day, royal soldiers arrived for them. Zainab, still trembling, clung to Yusha’s arm. When they arrived at the palace, people murmured. No one expected the lost prince to return… much less with a blind woman!

The Queen, Yusha’s mother, greeted them. At first, she was cold, but when she saw how her son looked at Zainab, she hugged her.

“So you are my daughter,” she said.

Zainab almost fainted with relief.

Days later, in the middle of the court, Yusha spoke:

“I will not accept the crown if my wife is not honored as a Princess.”

Zainab looked at him in astonishment.

“Would you give up the throne for me?”

“I did it once. I would do it again.”

The Queen stood up.

“From today on, Zainab is the Princess of this house. Whoever disrespects her disrespects the crown.”

And so it was. The court fell silent. The rumors ceased.

But Zainab wasn’t satisfied with a title. She used her voice to unite, to help. She listened to everyone, even those who despised her. Her wisdom and noble heart earned her the respect of the people and the nobles.

One afternoon, as they walked in the garden, she said to Yusha:

“It still hurts me that my father never loved me.”

“Maybe he didn’t see what you had, but I did. And now the world sees it too.”

Zainab smiled.

She was no longer “that thing.” She was a princess. She was a wife. She was strength. She was light.

And even if the world didn’t accept her immediately, she accepted herself. And that, for her, was more than enough.