“I knew that if you could love a beggar, you would see the soul of a Prince.” Blind Zainab was cast aside by her cruel, status-obsessed father, who forced her into marriage with a repulsive beggar just to erase his “shame.”
But the beggar had a secret that would shatter her family’s world: he was actually Yusha Al-Muddathir, the Prince of Mar’rakat, testing humanity in disguise. When Zainab finally learned the shocking truth, she returned to the city not as the broken girl they abandoned, but as Princess Zainab, ready to execute a poetic justice that exposed her father’s greed and cost him everything.
“I will coming soon…”
The Price of Perfection
The house of Ibrahim Al-Hassan was a testament to material success. It stood on the wealthiest street in Mar’rakat, a fortress of white marble, shimmering silks, and fragrant cedarwood. Ibrahim was not just a merchant; he was a gatekeeper of high society, obsessed with flawless presentation. His two eldest daughters, Aminah and Fauzia, were reflections of his pride: beautiful, sharp, and destined for powerful marriages.
But the third daughter, Zainab, was a defect. Born with ocular albinism, her eyes were sightless, staring out at a world she could only experience through sound, touch, and scent. For Ibrahim, Zainab’s blindness was a continuous, corrosive source of shame, a flaw that undermined his meticulously crafted image of perfection.
“You must stay in your room, thing,” Aminah would hiss, blocking the doorway with her expensive skirts. “The guests are arriving. Their families must believe our home is blessed, not cursed. You ruin the harmony.”
Zainab was confined to the rear of the house, a small, humid chamber that smelled perpetually of dust and unfulfilled potential. She was allowed to leave only to fetch water or on rare, supervised walks in the courtyard after sunset. She taught herself Braille by tracing the patterns on a discarded tapestry before a sympathetic tutor finally smuggled in a few books. Her hands became her sight, navigating the cruelty of her family with the precision of a master cartographer.
The Ultimatum of Utter Contempt
When Zainab turned twenty-one, the shame became intolerable for Ibrahim. Aminah and Fauzia were finalizing their engagements, and the thought of Zainab’s empty eyes at the wedding feasts drove him to a cold frenzy. He had to extinguish the blight entirely.
Ibrahim found his solution at the West Mosque. There, in the deepest corner of the courtyard, was a beggar known only as Yusha. He was a tall, gaunt figure, usually wrapped in foul, earth-stained rags, often seen with a pronounced limp, mumbling prayers and accepting scraps. He seemed utterly destitute, the very bottom rung of society.
Ibrahim cornered Yusha one morning and offered him a transaction: a few gold coins and a thick wool coat in exchange for taking Zainab off his hands.
“She is blind, useless, and cursed,” Ibrahim sneered, holding the bag of coins out with a gloved hand. “Take her. Keep her. Never let her set foot near my family again.”
Yusha’s hand, surprisingly steady, took the coins. “She will be my wife, merchant. I will care for her.”
“Care for her?” Ibrahim barked, laughing. “She is your burden now! She is yours to keep, in whatever hole you crawl into.”
The next morning, the transaction was completed in a brief, humiliating mockery of a wedding. Ibrahim handed Zainab over to the man smelling of wet earth and unwashed cloth. “Go with him,” he commanded, his voice cold stone. “You are no longer my concern.”
As Yusha led her away, her sisters watched from the veranda, their laughter tinkling like broken glass.
A Shack Built on Respect
Yusha led Zainab far beyond the city limits, past the last stone walls, to a small, rickety shack made of mud bricks and patched thatch. The air was cleaner here, scented with wild sage and desert dust. The interior was sparse: a sleeping mat, a small hearth, and nothing more.
“It is yours, Zainab,” Yusha said, his voice the first thing that surprised her. It was low, cultured, and resonant, not the rasping cry of a common beggar. “Forgive its humble nature. But here, you are protected.”
That first night, Yusha’s actions systematically dismantled every expectation Zainab had built around her cruel fate. He did not touch her inappropriately. He did not demand service. He made a simple fire and, with hands that moved with surprising grace, prepared a small pot of savory broth from ingredients she couldn’t place.
He insisted she take the warmest sleeping mat and the clean, surprisingly soft blanket he produced from a hidden corner. He slept near the doorway, like a watchful guardian.
“You must be tired,” he said, his tone gentle. “Your journey was unkind. Rest, Zainab. Tomorrow, a new life begins.”
The Poetry of Sight
As the weeks turned into months, Zainab fell in love with a man she could only perceive through his actions and his voice. Yusha never treated her blindness as a deficit, but as a unique filter.
He began teaching her to see the world again, not with her eyes, but with a vivid, poetic clarity no sighted person had ever given her.
“The river is not merely flowing water, my wife,” he described one afternoon, leading her hand to a sun-warmed stone. “It is liquid jade carrying the whispers of the mountains. Listen. The sound of the current is the voice of a thousand silver bells. The light, which you cannot see, rests upon the surface like powdered gold. And the sky is a deep, warm blanket the color of forgotten amethyst, holding the whole world close.”
He meticulously cleaned their small shack, always ensuring her path was clear. He would leave small, unexpected gifts—a woven reed basket, a carved wooden bird, a tiny pouch of exotic saffron—and he never once asked her for a single coin or effort.
Most tellingly, Yusha began leaving small, intricate patterns traced into the dirt or on a piece of slate near the hearth. One day, Zainab realized they weren’t random designs. They were large, hand-drawn versions of Braille letters. He was teaching himself her language.
The simple life was rich with intellectual and emotional nourishment. Zainab began to bloom, her silence replaced by laughter, her fear by unwavering trust.
One evening, Zainab felt confident enough to ask again about his past. “My love,” she said, touching his cheek, feeling the surprising smoothness of his skin, devoid of beggar’s roughness. “The men at the mosque spoke of you as broken and wretched. But your soul is pure gold. Tell me, truly, what life did you leave behind?”
Yusha sighed, a deep, burdened sound. “Zainab, I swore to myself I would not lie. But I cannot tell you the truth either. Not yet. I was not born a beggar, that much is true. But the world I left behind was a cage. And this shack, with you, is the only place I have ever found peace and honesty.”
Zainab, convinced he was a disgraced scholar or a wronged minor noble, accepted his silence, believing he would tell her when his heart was ready.
The Prince’s Motivation
The truth Yusha guarded was far more magnificent and complex than a mere noble’s disgrace. Yusha Al-Muddathir was the Crown Prince of the vast Mar’rakat Emirate. His life was a dizzying tapestry of politics, power, and palace intrigue. Every woman presented to him as a potential bride saw him only as a conduit to the throne, their eyes reflecting the shimmering gold of the crown, not the man.
Desperate for a genuine connection, Yusha had petitioned his father, the Emir Rashid, for a period of absolute anonymity. The Emir, remembering his own struggles to find honest love, reluctantly agreed.
Yusha adopted a persona: a limping, deeply religious beggar, keeping his identity safe behind layers of dust, solitude, and the reputation of being “cursed.” He chose the area near Ibrahim Al-Hassan’s home specifically because of its proximity to the city’s power center, allowing him to observe the corrosive effects of greed firsthand. He had been tracking Ibrahim for weeks, knowing the merchant’s vanity was his weakness.
When he heard the story of the blind daughter—the one discarded for her lack of physical perfection—Yusha knew he had found his test. If a woman rejected by the world could still possess a kind heart, and if she could love a man whom the world rejected, then he would have found his queen.
Aminah’s Vicious Disclosure
Six months after the wedding, Zainab ventured alone to the central marketplace, guided by the familiar smells of saffron and leather. Yusha had drawn a detailed map of the market in large Braille for her, which she now navigated with confident speed.
She was pausing by the fig vendor when a woman’s voice, shrill with shock and malice, cut through the din.
“Zainab? Good heavens, are you truly that blind fool?”
It was Aminah, her voice closer than Zainab ever expected.
“Aminah,” Zainab said calmly, moving to walk away.
“Wait! Don’t run to your beggar!” Aminah grabbed her arm, her fingers digging in with spite. “I thought you’d be dead from the filth by now! Listen, I need your help. My wedding dress needs alterations, and only you were ever good enough with the needle. Come back for a few days, and I’ll give you a small handful of coins.”
“I am happy with my life, Aminah. I will not return to your house.”
Aminah’s vanity morphed into a cold, vindictive rage. She shoved Zainab toward a passing fruit cart. “Happy? You idiot! You don’t even know what you gave up! He’s not a beggar! That wretch Yusha is actually Mustafa bin Khalid, a disgraced scholar who gambled away his inheritance! Father paid him to take you! You’re living with a liar, a ruin, not even a simple beggar! You loved a lie!”
Aminah turned and fled, satisfied she had left a fatal wound.
Zainab stumbled, the world spinning around the shocking new lie. Mustafa bin Khalid? A gambler? A liar? The betrayal was deep, shaking the foundation of her happiness. She rushed home, her heart pounding with a painful mix of fear and indignation.
The Truth Revealed
When Yusha returned, his gait heavy with the exhaustion of maintaining his façade, he heard Zainab’s controlled, trembling voice.
“Yusha,” she said, her hands tracing his face in the dim light. “I want the whole truth. Today. I know you are not a beggar, but I was told you are a disgraced gambler named Mustafa bin Khalid. Which lie is true?”
Yusha closed his eyes, his entire body slumping in defeat. The silence was agonizing. He knew this was the moment of reckoning. He took her hands, kissed her palms, and knelt before her.
“Zainab, the only pure thing I have in this life is your love. And I will not taint it with another lie.”
He took a deep breath, and the words, heavy with royal authority, resonated through the small shack.
“I am not Mustafa bin Khalid. My name is Yusha Al-Muddathir. My father is the Emir Rashid. I am the Crown Prince of Mar’rakat.”
Zainab was speechless, clutching his shoulders for balance as her legs gave way. The lie of a beggar was monumental; the reality of a Prince was unfathomable.
“Why?” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “You risked everything! The throne! The palace! For a test?”
“For you,” Yusha corrected, his voice firm. “I risked it for a soul that could love me when my title was worthless. For a woman who could see me when others were blinded by gold. Your father’s greed was my shield. His contempt for your blindness was my opportunity to find honesty. Zainab, my wife, I love you. And I regret nothing of the past six months.”
He lifted her to her feet. “Now, we go home. Not to the shack, but to the Palace.”
The Grand Entrance
The next morning, the humble shack was gone, obscured by the dust of a dozen black and gold royal motorcars. Yusha, no longer cloaked in rags, stood in the immaculate white and crimson uniform of the Crown Prince, radiating raw, undeniable power.
He guided Zainab—now dressed in a simple, but exquisitely tailored silk gown—into a bulletproof, chauffeur-driven limousine.
When they arrived at the Palace, the scene was chaos: hundreds of nobles, dignitaries, and ministers had assembled, awaiting the return of the Prince who had been missing for six months. They expected a triumphant arrival, perhaps with a politically arranged bride. They were not prepared for the sight of Prince Yusha, arm-in-arm with a woman whose eyes were closed to the sunlight.
As Yusha led Zainab through the grand receiving hall, the whispers erupted like gunfire. Blind? A commoner? The disgrace!
The only face that mattered belonged to Queen Laila. Her posture was regal, but her eyes held a mix of shock and icy inquiry.
Yusha ignored the court’s scrutiny. He turned to his mother, his voice commanding the silence of the hall. “Mother, I present my wife, Zainab—the only woman who loved the man and not the title. She is my Queen.”
Queen Laila stepped forward, her scrutiny intense. Zainab, despite her fear, held her head high and bowed with the dignity she had practiced in her isolation.
The Queen looked from her son’s fierce conviction to Zainab’s quiet strength. After an agonizing moment, a genuine smile softened the Queen’s stern features. She embraced Zainab. “My son has chosen well,” she declared, her voice ringing with finality. “Welcome home, Princess Zainab. You have passed the test of true love.”
The Vow of the Throne
The court’s acceptance was far from unanimous. The old Viziers and ambitious minor nobles saw Zainab as a weakness, a political liability. They whispered of tradition and the need for a sighted Queen.
The next day, Prince Yusha convened a formal assembly. He stood before the entire governing council, his hand resting protectively on Zainab’s shoulder.
One ancient, scornful Vizier, Hassan, stepped forward. “Your Highness, your loyalty to your wife is admirable. But the Emirate requires a ruler’s companion who can see. The throne must be above sentimentality.”
Yusha’s face hardened. He took center stage and delivered a speech that would be chronicled in the Emirate’s history for generations.
“I left this palace six months ago, abandoning the title you prize, to find a human being who would see me—the frightened, flawed man beneath the uniform. I found that vision not in the eyes of your vain daughters, nor in your endless political treaties. I found it in the heart of a woman you consider a burden.”
He looked directly at Vizier Hassan. “I learned more about courage and governance in a mud shack with my wife than I ever did in your hallowed halls. She faced the world’s cruelty with grace. That is the strength the Emirate needs.”
Then, Yusha made his ultimate declaration, one that silenced all future dissent:
“Hear my vow: I will not be crowned Emir, nor will I sign a single royal decree, until Princess Zainab is fully accepted, honored, and respected by every member of this court. If any of you dare to challenge her place, or cast shame upon her blindness, I will renounce the Crown entirely, leave this kingdom, and return to the humble life I shared with her. I did it once; I will do it again. I will choose my Queen over the Throne.”
The room fell silent, the political threat absolute. The council knew he was capable of this sacrifice. Queen Laila rose, nodding her assent. With those words, Princess Zainab’s position became unassailable.
The Trapped Merchant
News traveled slowly to the Al-Hassan home, but when it arrived, it hit with the force of an earthquake. Ibrahim and his daughters, who had mocked the beggar, learned they had scorned the future Emir.
Ibrahim, blinded by his own greed, rushed to the Palace gates, his mind racing with schemes. He would grovel. He would claim he orchestrated the marriage as a clever political move. He would demand a Vizier position and wealth.
Zainab, now secure in her identity, requested a private audience with her father. She met him in a small, elegant receiving chamber, dressed in the luminous silks of the Palace, sitting straight on an ornate chair.
Ibrahim entered, bowing low, his composure completely gone. “My Princess! My glorious daughter! I knew your destiny was great! That marriage was my sacrifice! I gave you to the Prince in disguise to protect him! I ask only for your forgiveness and a small investment opportunity…”
Zainab raised a hand, stopping him. She spoke, her voice measured, calm, and utterly devastating.
“Father. Do you remember the last thing you called me before you pushed me into the arms of a man you believed was a pauper?”
Ibrahim stammered, his face gray. “N-no, my mind… is clouded by joy…”
“You called me ‘that thing,’” Zainab stated, the word hanging heavy in the air. “You said I was a curse and the trash of your house. My sister called me a ‘blind rat’ and tried to shame me with a lie.”
The Final Decree
Yusha’s chief Vizier and the royal Scribe entered the room. Zainab was ready.
“You came here seeking the wealth and status you always craved, Father,” Zainab said, her voice now ringing with royal authority. “You wanted to profit from the status you once discarded. But the greatest crime you committed was the poverty of your heart.”
She nodded to the Vizier, who unrolled a formal, official scroll.
“By decree of the Crown Prince Yusha and Princess Zainab,” the Vizier read, his voice cold and clear. “The Al-Hassan merchant house is hereby stripped of all royal patronage, trade licenses, and political protections within the Emirate. The family will be removed from all social registers. They will be confined to the city limits and their assets frozen, save for the necessities of a humble existence.”
Ibrahim gasped, his world crumbling. Without royal patronage, his entire merchant empire was reduced to dust.
Zainab rose and walked toward him, stopping within touching distance. She looked straight ahead, her sightless eyes fixed on the truth of his soul.
“You sought to punish me with poverty, Father, and now you will face the same consequence,” Zainab said. “You taught me that sight is a defect when it blinds you to kindness. My husband saw my soul when he wore rags. You saw only rags when he wore a crown. You will now live the life you wished upon me: discarded, stripped of all privilege, and entirely invisible.”
She ordered the guards to escort the ruined merchant out.
Zainab stood alone in the chamber, the heavy silence broken only by the sound of her own steady breathing. She was no longer the frightened girl in the small, dark room. She was Princess Zainab, a woman whose soul had found a Prince, whose strength had earned her a crown, and whose ultimate justice was delivered not with rage, but with the quiet, devastating clarity of true love. Her life, once marked by darkness, now shone with the brilliant, inspiring light of triumph.
