Amina had never seen the world, but she could feel its cruelty with every breath she took. She was born blind into a family that valued beauty above all else. Her two sisters were admired for their captivating eyes and slender figures, while Amina was treated like a burden—a shameful secret hidden behind closed doors.

Her mother died when she was just five, and from that moment on, her father changed. He became bitter, resentful, and cruel—especially to her. He never called her by name; he called her “that thing.” He didn’t want her at the table during family meals or around when visitors came. He believed she was cursed. And when Amina turned 21, he made a decision that would shatter what little remained of his already broken heart.

One morning, her father entered their small room where Amina was sitting silently, running her fingers over the Braille pages of an old, worn book. He dropped a folded piece of cloth into her lap.
“You’re getting married tomorrow,” he said tersely.

Amina froze. The words made no sense. Getting married? To whom?

“He’s a beggar from the church,” her father continued. “You’re blind. He’s poor. A good match for you.”

She felt as if the blood had drained from her face. She wanted to scream, but no sound came out. She had no choice. Her father never gave her choices.

The next day, she was married in a small, hurried ceremony. Of course, she never saw his face—and no one dared describe it to her. Her father pushed her toward the man and told her to take his arm. She obeyed like a ghost trapped in her own body. People snickered, whispering, “The blind woman and the beggar.”

After the ceremony, her father handed her a small bag containing some clothes and pushed it toward the man once more.
“Now it’s your problem,” he said—and walked away without looking back.

The beggar, whose name was Eli, led her silently along the path. He didn’t say anything for a long time. They came to a small, ramshackle hut on the edge of the village. It smelled of damp earth and smoke.
“It’s not much,” Eli said softly. “But you’ll be safe here.”

She sat down on the old mat inside, holding back tears. This was her life now—a blind girl married to a beggar, in a hut made of mud and hope.

But something strange happened that very first night.

Eli made her tea with gentle hands. He gave her his own blanket and slept by the door, like a guard dog protecting its queen. He spoke to her as if he truly cared—asking what stories she liked, what dreams she had, what foods made her smile. No one had ever asked her such things before.

Days turned into weeks. Eli took her to the stream every morning, describing the sun, the birds, the trees—with such poetry that Amina began to feel as if she could see them through his words. He sang to her while she did laundry, and at night he told her stories about the stars and distant lands. She laughed for the first time in years. Her heart began to open.

And in that strange little hut… something unexpected happened: Amina fell in love.

One afternoon, as she reached for his hand, she asked,
“Were you always a beggar?”

He hesitated. Then he said softly,
“I wasn’t always like this.”

But he never said more, and Amina didn’t press the issue.

Until one day.

She went to the market alone to buy vegetables. Eli had given her careful directions, and she memorized every step. But halfway there, someone grabbed her arm violently.

“Blind rat!” a voice spat.

It was her sister—Claire.

“Are you still alive? Still pretending to be a beggar’s wife?”

Amina felt tears well up in her eyes, but she stood her ground.
“I’m happy,” she said.

Claire laughed cruelly.
“You don’t even know what he looks like. He’s trash—just like you.”

Then she whispered something that shattered her heart:
“He’s not a beggar, Amina. You’ve been lied to.”

Amina staggered home, confused. She waited until nightfall, and when Eli returned, she asked him again—but this time firmly:

“Tell me the truth. Who are you really?”

And that was when he knelt before her, took her hands, and said,
“You weren’t supposed to know yet. But I can’t lie to you anymore.”

Her heart pounded in her chest.

He took a deep breath.
“I am not a beggar. I am the son of the Patriarch.”

Amina’s world began to spin as she processed his words.

“I am the Patriarch’s son.”

She tried to regulate her breathing, trying to understand what she had just heard. Her mind relived every moment they had shared—his kindness, his quiet strength, the vividness of his stories that seemed too rich for a mere beggar.

Now she understood why.

He had never been a beggar.

Her father hadn’t married her to a beggar—he had unwittingly married her to royalty in rags.

She withdrew her hands, stepped back, and asked—her voice trembling:

“Why? Why did you let me believe you were a beggar?”

Eli stood, his voice calm but thick with emotion:

“Because I wanted someone to see me—not my wealth, not my title, just me. Someone pure. Someone whose love wasn’t bought or forced. You were all I prayed for, Amina.”

She sat down, her legs too weak to support her. Her heart was fighting a battle between anger and love.

Why hadn’t he told her?

Why had he let her think she’d been discarded like trash?

Eli knelt beside her again.
“I never meant to hurt you,” he said. “I came to the village in disguise because I was tired of suitors who loved the throne but not the man. I heard about a blind girl rejected by her own father. I watched you from afar for weeks before proposing through your father, dressed as a beggar. I knew he would accept—because he wanted to be rid of you.”

Tears streamed down Amina’s cheeks. The pain of her father’s rejection mingled with disbelief that someone would go so far—only to find a heart like hers.

She didn’t know what to say. So she simply asked,
“And now? What happens now?”

Eli took her hand gently.
“Now, you’re coming with me. To my world. To the palace.”

Her heart leaped.
“But I’m blind… how can I be a princess?”

He smiled.
“You already are, my princess.”

That night, she barely slept.

Her thoughts swirled—her father’s cruelty, Eli’s love, and the terrifying uncertainty of what the future held.

In the morning, a royal carriage arrived in front of the hut. Guards dressed in black and gold bowed to Eli and Amina as they stepped out. Amina held tightly to Eli’s arm as the carriage began its journey to the palace.

When they arrived, a crowd had already gathered. They were shocked by the return of the lost prince—but even more shocked to see him with a blind girl.

Eli’s mother, the Matriarch, stepped forward, her eyes narrowing as she studied Amina.

But Amina curtsied respectfully.

Eli remained by her side and declared,
“This is my wife. The woman I chose. The woman who saw my soul when no one else could.”

The Matriarch remained silent for a moment.

Then she stepped forward and hugged Amina.
“So she is my daughter,” she said.

Amina nearly collapsed with relief.

Eli squeezed her hand and whispered,
“I told you, you are safe.”

That night, as they settled into their room in the palace, Amina stood by the window, listening to the sounds of the royal grounds.

Her entire life had changed in a single day.

She was no longer “that thing” locked in a dark room.

She was a wife, a princess, a woman who had been loved not for her looks or beauty, but for her soul.

And though peace filled that moment, something dark still lingered in her heart—the shadow of her father’s hatred.

She knew the world would not accept her easily, that the court would whisper and mock at her blindness, and that enemies would arise within the palace walls.

Yet for the first time, she did not feel small.

She felt powerful.

The next morning, she was summoned to court, where nobles and leaders had gathered. Some sneered at her entrance with Eli, but she held her head high.

Then came the unexpected twist.

Eli stood before them and declared,
“I will not be crowned until my wife is accepted and honored in this palace. And if she isn’t, then I will leave with her.”

Gasps and murmurs filled the room.

Amina felt her heart pound as she looked at him.

“Would you give up the throne for me?” she whispered.

He looked at her with fierce passion in his eyes.
“I already did it once. I would do it again.”

The Matriarch stood.
“Then let it be known—from this day forth, Amina is not just your wife. She is Princess Amina of the Royal House. Anyone who disrespects her disrespects the crown.”

And with those words, the room fell silent.

Amina’s heart beat strongly—no longer out of fear, but out of strength.

She was no longer a shadow—but a woman who had found her place in the world.

And best of all, for the first time, she didn’t need to be seen for her beauty—only for the love in her heart.

The End