Guests were entertained without her.
Even sunlight… felt forbidden.
She lived in a small room at the back of the house, where dust settled like forgotten memories.
But Zainab had one escape.
Her fingers.
They danced across Braille pages, building worlds she could never see.
Worlds where people were kind.
Where love didn’t have conditions.
Then… one morning… everything shattered.
Her father entered without knocking.
Heavy steps.
Cold silence.
And then—
A piece of fabric thrown onto her lap.
“You’re getting married tomorrow.”
The words didn’t land.
They… exploded.
Inside her chest.
Her lips trembled.
“To… who?”
A pause.
Then his voice — sharp, merciless.
“A beggar from the mosque.”
Her breath caught.
The room felt smaller.
Darker.
Even for someone who had never seen light.
“You’re blind,” he continued.
