“He’s poor.”
A cruel chuckle.
“A perfect match.”
Zainab’s hands tightened around the cloth.
Marriage.
Not love.
Not choice.
Just… disposal.
She wanted to scream.
To beg.
To ask why.
But she already knew.
She had always known.
Because in that house…
She was never a daughter.
Just a burden waiting to be removed.
And now…
Her time had come.
The next day arrived too quickly.
Voices filled the house.
Strangers.
Whispers.
Mocking laughter barely hidden behind fake smiles.
“The blind girl…”
“And a beggar?”
“What a tragedy.”
Zainab stood still.
Like a body without a soul.
No one described the groom.
No one cared to.
Her father grabbed her wrist.
Rough.
Cold.
And pushed her forward.
“Take his arm.”
She hesitated.
For just a second.
