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 captivating eyes and elegant figures, while Zainab was treated as a burden, a shameful secret kept behind closed doors. Her mother died when she was only five, and from then on, her father changed. He became bitter, resentful, and cruel, especially toward her. He never called her by her name; he called her “that thing.” He didn’t want her at the table during family meals or anywhere near when visitors arrived. He believed she was cursed, and when Zainab turned 21, she made a decision that would destroy what was left of her already broken heart.
One morning, her father entered her small room where Zainab was sitting quietly, touching with her fingers the braille pages of an old, worn book, and placed a folded piece of cloth on her lap.
“You’re getting married tomorrow,” he said flatly. 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 as if the blood had drained from her face. She wanted to scream, but no sound came out of her mouth. She had no choice. Her father never gave her any.
The next day, she was married in a small, hurried ceremony. Of course, she never saw his face, and no one dared describe it to her. Her father pushed her toward the man and told her to take his arm. She obeyed like a ghost in her own body. Everyone laughed behind her hands, murmuring, “The blind girl and the beggar.” After the ceremony, her father gave her a small bag with some clothes and pushed her back toward the man.
“Now it’s your problem,” he said, and walked away without looking back.
The beggar, whose name was Yusha, silently led her along the path. He didn’t say anything for a long time. They came to a small, dilapidated hut on the edge of the village. It smelled of damp earth and smoke.
“It’s not much,” Yusha said gently. “But you’ll be safe here.” She sat down on the old mat inside, holding back her tears. This was her life now. A blind girl married to a beggar in a shack made of mud and hope.
But something strange happened that first night.
Yusha prepared tea with gentle hands. She gave her her own coat and slept by the door, like a guard dog protecting its queen. She spoke to her as if she truly cared: she asked her what stories she liked, what dreams she had, what foods made her smile. No one had ever asked her anything like that before.
