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 enchanting eyes and graceful figures, while Zainab was treated like a burden—a shameful secret hidden 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 name; he called her “that thing.”

He didn’t want to see her at the table during family meals or around when visitors came.

He believed she was cursed.

And when Zainab turned 21, she made a decision that completely shattered what little heart she had left.

One morning, her father entered her small room, where Zainab was sitting quietly, running her fingers over the pages of an old Braille book.

He dropped a folded cloth into her lap.

“You’re getting married tomorrow,” he said without emotion.
Zainab froze.
The words made no sense.
Getting married? To whom?

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

He felt the blood drain from his face.
He wanted to scream, but nothing came out.
He had no choice.
His father never gave him a choice.

The next day, she was married in a small, hurried ceremony.
Of course, she never saw the man’s 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 trapped in her own body.
People snickered, murmuring,
“The blind woman and the beggar.”

After the ceremony, her father handed 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 guided her along the path.
He didn’t say anything for a long time.
They came to a small, dilapidated shack on the edge of the village.
It smelled of wet earth and smoke.

“It’s not much,” Yusha said softly.
“But you’ll be safe here.”

She sat on an old mat inside, holding back her tears.
That was her life now: a blind girl married to a beggar, in a hut made of mud and hope.

But something strange happened from the first night.

Yusha made her tea with gentle hands.
She gave her her own coat and slept by the door, like a guard dog watching over its queen.
She spoke to her as if she truly cared—asking her what stories she liked, what dreams she had, what foods made her smile.
No one had ever asked her that before.

Days turned into weeks.
Yusha accompanied her to the river every morning, describing the sun, the birds, the trees—with such poetry that Zainab began to feel she could see through his words.
He sang while she washed clothes, and at night he told her stories about stars and distant lands.
She laughed for the first time in years.
Her heart began to open.
And in that strange little hut… the unexpected happened:
Zainab fell in love.

One afternoon, while holding her hand, he asked her:

—Were you always a beggar?

Yusha hesitated. Then she replied softly:

—I wasn’t always like this.

But he said no more, and Zainab did not insist.

Until one day.

She went to the market alone to buy vegetables.
Yusha had given her precise instructions, which she carefully memorized.
But halfway there, someone violently grabbed her arm.

“Blind rat!” a voice spat. It was her sister—Aminah.
“Are you still alive? Are you still pretending to be a beggar’s wife?”

Zainab felt tears coming out, but she stood her ground.

“I’m happy,” he said.

Aminah laughed cruelly.
“You don’t even know what he looks like. He’s trash,” just like you.

And then he whispered something that broke her heart:

—He’s not a beggar, Zainab. You’ve been lied to.

Zainab staggered home, confused.
She waited until nightfall, and when Yusha returned, she asked him again—but this time firmly:

—Tell me the truth. Who are you really?

Then Yusha knelt before her, took her hands and said:

—You weren’t supposed to know yet. But I can’t lie to you now.

His heart was beating hard in his chest.

Yusha took a deep breath.

—I’m not a beggar. I’m the Emir’s son.

Zainab’s world began to spin as she processed his words.
“I am the Emir’s son.”
She tried to control her breathing, trying to comprehend what she had just heard.
Her mind relived every shared moment—his kindness, his quiet strength, the richness of his stories that seemed too vivid for a mere beggar.
Now she understood.
He was never a beggar.
Her father didn’t marry her to a beggar—he married her, unknowingly, to a prince in disguise.

He withdrew his hands, stepped back, and asked—his voice shaking:

—Why? Why did you make me believe you were a beggar?

Yusha stood up, her voice calm but full of 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 sat down, her legs too weak to support her.
Her heart struggled between love and anger.
Why hadn’t she told him before?
Why had she allowed him to believe she’d been discarded?

Yusha knelt down beside him 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 proposing to your father, dressed as a beggar.
I knew he would accept—because he wanted to be rid of you.”

Tears streamed down Zainab’s cheeks.
The pain of her father’s rejection mingled with disbelief that someone would go so far—only to find a heart like hers.
She didn’t know what to say.
So she simply asked:

—And now? What happens now?

Yusha gently took his hand.

—Now you’re coming with me. To my world. To the palace.

His heart leapt.

—But I’m blind… how can I be a princess?

He smiled.

—You already are, my princess.

That night, she could barely sleep.
Her thoughts spun in circles—her father’s cruelty, Yusha’s love, and the uncertainty of what was to come.
The next morning, a royal carriage arrived in front of the hut.
Guards dressed in black and gold bowed to Yusha and Zainab as they left.
Zainab clung to Yusha’s arm as the carriage began its journey to the palace.

When they arrived, a crowd was already waiting for them.
They were surprised to see the lost prince—but even more surprised to see that he had come with a blind girl.
Yusha’s mother, the queen, approached, studying Zainab with her inquisitive eyes.
But Zainab bowed respectfully.
Yusha stood by her side and declared:

—She’s my wife. The woman I chose.
The woman who saw my soul when no one else could.

The queen was silent for a moment.
Then she approached and hugged Zainab.

“So, she’s my daughter,” he said.

Zainab nearly fainted with relief.
Yusha squeezed her hand and whispered,

—I told you, you’re safe.

That night, already in her room at the palace, Zainab stood by the window, listening to the sounds of the royal gardens.
Her whole life had changed in a single day.
She was no longer “that thing” locked in a dark room.
She was a wife, a princess, a woman loved not for her beauty, but for her soul.

And though she felt peace in that moment, something dark still lurked in her heart—the shadow of her father’s hatred.
She knew the world would not accept her easily, that the court would murmur and mock her blindness, and that enemies would arise within the palace walls.

But for the first time, she didn’t feel small.
She felt powerful.

The next day, she was summoned to court, where nobles and leaders had gathered.
Some sneered at her entrance with Yusha, but she held her head high.

And then the unexpected happened.
Yusha stood before everyone and declared:

“I will not accept the crown until my wife is accepted and honored in this palace.
And if she isn’t, I will leave with her.”

Gasps and murmurs were heard in the room.
Zainab felt her heart pound as she looked at him.
He had already given everything for her.

“Would you give up the throne for me?” he whispered.

He looked at her with passion in his eyes.

—I did it once. And I’d do it again.

The queen stood up.

“So let it be known,” he said, “from this day forward, Zainab is not just your wife.
She is Princess Zainab of the Royal House.
Whoever disrespects her, disrespects the crown.”

And with those words, the room fell silent.
Zainab’s heart pounded—no longer out of fear, but out of determination.
She knew her life would continue to change, but now, it would do so on her own terms.
She was no longer a shadow—but a woman who had found her place in the world.
And best of all: for the first time, she didn’t need to be seen for her beauty—only for the love she carried in her heart.