Zainab was born blind, but the darkness made her heart heavy. In her family, looks were the most important thing. Long lashes, dazzling eyes, and lovely skin were all indicators of merit that brought acclaim and luxury. People liked her two older sisters because they were so attractive. They lived by garnering attention and praise. But Zainab, who had been blind since she was born, was treated like a mistake.
Zainab’s mother, the only person who held her and told her she was loved, died when Zainab was just five years old. The guy she called “father,” who was supposed to protect her, became cold and unfeeling after that. He became harsh because he was depressed. He couldn’t help but frown when he saw her. He didn’t even say her name once. He called her “that thing.”
She couldn’t eat with the rest of the family. When people came around, they put her in her room so they couldn’t see her. As time went on, the whispers in the house increased louder. Her sisters quietly poked fun of her and dubbed her cursed. Zainab sat by herself and silently stroked her fingers over the pages of her old braille books. They were her only pals. The other girls put on beautiful outfits and braided each other’s hair.
Her father came into her room without knocking, like he did most mornings, on the day she turned 21. She could hear how hard he was walking before he spoke.
He said, “You’re getting married tomorrow,” and put a folded scarf on her lap.
She couldn’t believe it. “To whom?”
“To a beggar who is sitting outside the mosque.”
The words really hurt her. There was nothing she could say. The ball of despair got tighter around her neck. Marriage, which had once seemed like a far-off dream, was now a punishment.
“You can’t see.” He doesn’t have a lot of money. “It fits,” her father responded with little emotion. “Don’t ask questions.” “Do what you’re told.”
That night, she didn’t sleep. She lay down on her tiny mattress and listened to the laughter coming from the other rooms. Her sisters were undoubtedly happy because they didn’t have to deal with the family’s “shame.” Zainab felt like she had nothing. There is no hope, no dreams, and no future.
The next day, the wedding went by quickly. There are no flowers. No sound. A soft prayer and the sound of feet moving. Her father’s strong hand took her to Yusha. Nobody said anything about his face, and he didn’t say anything during the ceremony. After that, her dad gave her a small bag of old clothes and said, “Now she’s your problem.” He didn’t even wait for her to go.
Yusha moved gently, his hand warm but not sure what to do. The walk was long. The walkway went from cobblestones to dirt, and the weather turned cooler. They finally made it to a little, dilapidated hut made of mud and tin. The dirt and smoke were in the air. The wind made the roof creak.
“It’s not much,” Yusha said quietly. “But now it’s yours too.”
She was shaking as she sat on the mat inside. This was it. Her existence. A blind girl who was kicked out of her home and married a beggar.
But that night, something weird happened.
Yusha didn’t touch her. He didn’t tell others what to do. Instead, he made tea leisurely and handed her his coat to use as a pillow. Then he sat down and proceeded to talk about her, not his profession or what he wanted her to do.
He asked, “What do you dream about?” “Do you like to read stories?”
Zainab didn’t know how to respond. No one had ever asked her that before.
That night, he told her about stars and how they twinkled like salt in a black sea. He informed her about flower colors she’d never seen and how the sound of rain hitting leaves was different from the sound of it hitting roofs. She thought about things that were extremely real because of what he said, and for the first time in years, she slept comfortably.
Days became weeks. Yusha would gently take her by the hand and walk her along the riverbank, telling her about the birds chirping, the sky at dawn, and what the wind brought from faraway trees. He was usually nice, patient, and spoke in a quiet voice. He never felt bad for her. He never imagined she was broken.
On the other hand, Zainab began to feel alive. She really laughed for the first time in a long time. Her fingers learnt how to cook, weave, and feel the shapes of the world that she had never seen before. She felt her heart stretching out to him with every little moment and nice word.
“Yusha, were you always a beggar?” she asked one night while they were sitting by the fire.
He paused for a time before saying, “No.”
That was all he had to say. And she didn’t ask for more.
But the truth was patient and waited.
Yusha became sick one morning and couldn’t go to the market with her mom. Zainab went on a trip alone with a planned memory. As she followed the noises and smells, she counted her steps. But when she arrived to the stand with the vegetables, someone grabbed her arm firmly.
“Still acting like you matter?” The voice said with a sneer. Her sister’s name was Amina.
Zainab’s body went stiff. “Stop.”
Amina replied, “You’re married to a beggar and still act like you have pride.” “Sad.”
Zainab didn’t back down. “I’m happy.”
Amina laughed in a cruel way. Then she leaned in and added, “You’re a fool,” in a voice full of anger. He doesn’t have a lot of money. He doesn’t ask for money. He has more money than Dad ever did. He paid to marry you so he could take you away.
Zainab felt like her lungs were empty.
She didn’t say a word when she got home. She was thinking quickly. She shook her hands.
Yusha was sitting up and drinking soup. When she walked in, he looked up and sounded worried. “Your skin is pale.” What went wrong?
“Please tell me the truth,” she begged, her voice quivering. “Did you pay my dad to marry me?”
There was a long pause.
“I did.”
Her heart shattered.
He said quickly, “I didn’t buy you.” “I saved you.” I saw your dad at the mosque. I saw how he treated you. I asked other people. I found out how they locked you up and informed you that you were cursed. I couldn’t sleep at all. I couldn’t stand it any longer.
Zainab didn’t move.
“I had money.” I used it to let you go. Not as a present. Not to have you. I gave up everything—my name, my title, and my inheritance—so that we could be equal. Not someone you would have to pay back. Someone you could love. Or not. You can always pick that.
She cried.
“I just wanted you to be okay.”
She knelt down and reached out for his hand. “You were the first person to ask me what I wanted to do.”
Years passed.
They built a little school for kids like her, boys and girls who were ignored and not seen. Zainab taught them to read by touching things. Yusha made their hut feel like home. And the world, which had been cruel and didn’t care about her worth, now saw her.
People in that little community stopped talking about “that thing.”
They talked of Zainab, the woman who could see with her heart.
And Yusha, the man who had everything yet chose her instead.
