His pants were stained and frayed at the bottom. His shoes looked like they had been pulled from a garbage pile.
But his face, something about his face made her paws. It was covered in dirt and a thick unckempt beard.
But his eyes, his eyes were different. They were deep and dark and watching everything with a strange intensity.
Not the dull, defeated eyes of a broken man. Something else, something she couldn’t quite understand.
He looked at her as she approached, and for just a moment, something flickered in those eyes.
Was it sadness? Anger? She couldn’t tell. The ceremony was short and cold. No celebration, no joy, just words spoken quickly by an imam who wanted to be anywhere else.
Her uncle signed the papers as her guardian. The homeless man made his mark with an ex because they said he could not write his own name.
And just like that, Zara became the wife of a beggar. When it was over, her uncle handed her a small bag with her few belongings.
He is your husband now. You are his responsibility. Do not come back to this house looking for help.
