Zainab was born blind, but the darkness really hurt her heart. Looks were very important to her family. Long lashes, dazzling eyes, and lovely skin were all indicators of worth that led to acclaim and wealth. People thought her two older sisters were quite lovely. They lived their lives by garnering praise and attention. But Zainab, who had been blind since birth, was treated like a mistake.
When Zainab was only five, her mother, the only person who held her and told her she was loved, died. After that, the man she called “father” and who was supposed to keep her safe became cold and unfeeling. He was depressed, but then he became harsh. When he saw her, he couldn’t help but frown. He never once stated her name. He thought of her as “that thing.”
She couldn’t eat with the rest of the family. When company came around, they put her in her room so they couldn’t see her. The whispers in the house increased louder over time. Her sisters made fun of her behind her back and called her cursed. Zainab sat by herself and softly stroked her fingers over the pages of her old braille books, which were her only pals. The other girls wore beautiful outfits and braided each other’s hair.
On the morning of her 21st birthday, her father came into her room without knocking, as he regularly did. She could hear how hard he was walking before he said anything.
He said, “You’re getting married tomorrow,” and put a folded scarf in her lap.
She couldn’t believe it. “To who?”
“To a beggar sitting outside the mosque.”
The words hurt her a lot. She couldn’t say anything. The lump of despondency got tighter around her neck. Marriage, which had previously felt like a dream that could never come true, was now a punishment.
“You can’t see.” He doesn’t have a lot of money. Her father remarked, “It fits,” without displaying any emotion. “Don’t ask.” “Follow orders.”
She didn’t get any sleep that night. She lay down on her tiny mattress and listened to the sounds of people laughing in the other rooms. Her sisters were undoubtedly happy because they weren’t dealing with the family’s “shame” anymore. Zainab felt like she had nothing. There are no dreams, no future, and no hope.
The wedding went by swiftly the next day. No flowers. No music. There was only a murmured prayer and the sound of feet moving. Her father’s strong hand led her to the man, Yusha. People didn’t mention anything about his face, and he didn’t say anything during the ceremony. Then her dad handed her a small bag of old clothes and said, “She’s your problem now.” He didn’t even wait for her to go.
Yusha moved gently, his hand heated but not sure. It took a long time to walk. The road went from cobblestones to dirt, and the weather turned cooler. They finally made it to a little, dilapidated hut made of mud and tin. She could smell the smoke and the dirt. The roof creaked because of the wind.
“It’s not a lot,” Yusha said in a low voice. “But now it’s yours as well.”
She was shaking while she sat on the mat inside. This was it. Her life. A blind girl who was kicked out of her house and married a beggar.
That night, though, something unexpected happened.
Yusha didn’t touch her. He didn’t tell anyone what to do. Instead, he made tea by moving slowly and handed her his coat to use as a pillow. He then sat down and started talking about her, not his profession or what he wanted her to do.
He asked, “What do you want to do?” “Do you like stories?”
Zainab didn’t know what to say. That was the first time someone had ever asked her that.
That night, he told her about stars and how they sparkled like salt in a black sea. He informed her about the colors of flowers she’d never seen before and how the sound of rain hitting leaves was different from the sound of it hitting roofs. His words made her think of things that were very real, and for the first time in years, she slept comfortably.
Days went into weeks. Yusha would softly guide her along the riverbank, telling her about the birds singing, the sky at dawn, and what the wind brought from trees far away. He was usually nice, patient, and spoke quietly. He never felt bad for her. He never imagined she was hurt.
Zainab, on the other hand, began to feel alive. She laughed for the first time in a long time. Her fingers learnt new things, including how to cook, weave, and feel the shapes of the world she had never seen before. She felt her heart reaching out to him with every little moment and nice word.
One night, while they were sitting by the fire, she asked, “Yusha, were you always a beggar?”
He paused for a time, then responded in a hushed voice, “No.”
That was all he had to say. And she didn’t ask for more.
But the truth was calm and waited.
One morning, Yusha became sick and couldn’t go to the market with her parents. Zainab went on her trip alone with a planned memory. As she followed the noises and smells, she counted her steps. But when she arrived to the vegetable booth, someone grabbed her arm tightly.
“Are you still acting like you matter?” The voice said with a sneer. Amina was her sister.
Zainab stiffened up. “Let go.”
“You’re married to a beggar and still act like you have pride,” Amina replied. “Sad.”
Zainab stood her ground. “I’m glad.”
Amina laughed in a cruel way. Then she leaned in and added, “You’re a fool,” with a lot of anger in her voice. He isn’t poor. He doesn’t ask for money. He has more money than Dad ever has. He paid to marry you so he could take you away.
Zainab’s lungs felt empty.
She didn’t say anything when she got home. Her thoughts were racing. Her hands were shaking.
Yusha was sitting up and eating soup. When she came in, he looked up and his voice was full of worry. “You’re pale.” What happened?
“Please tell me the truth,” she begged, her voice breaking. “Did you pay my father to marry me?”
There was a long break.
“I did.”
Her heart burst.
“I didn’t buy you,” he responded quickly. “I saved you. I saw your father at the mosque. I saw how he treated you. I asked people. I learned how they put you in jail and told you you were cursed. I couldn’t get any rest. I couldn’t handle 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 my name, my rank, and my inheritance so that I may meet you as an equal. Someone you wouldn’t have to pay back. Someone you could want to love. Or maybe not. You may always select that.
She sobbed.
“I just wanted you to be safe.”
She sank to her knees and reached out for his hand. “You were the first person to ever ask me what I wanted to do.”
It took years.
They built a little school for youngsters like her—boys and girls who were ignored and not seen. Zainab taught them to read by touch. Yusha converted their hut into a home. And the world, which had been mean and not cared about her worth, now saw her.
And in that little hamlet, people stopped talking about “that thing.”
They talked of Zainab, the woman whose heart could see.
And of Yusha, the man who had everything yet chose her instead.