Zainab had never seen the world.
But she had learned to recognize cruelty… by its sound.
The way voices changed when she entered a room.
The silence that followed her footsteps.
The sighs that slipped out when someone realized she was still there.
Unwanted.
Unseen… even without sight.
She was born into a house that worshipped beauty.
Her sisters were praised like rare jewels — soft laughter, bright eyes, graceful steps.
Zainab was none of that.
To them, she was a mistake.
A shadow that refused to disappear.
Her mother used to hold her close.
Used to whisper, “You are enough.”
But when she died… those words died with her.
And her father?
He became something colder.
Something distant.
He stopped calling her “Zainab.”
He called her “that thing.”
Meals were eaten without her.
