Yusha’s voice hardens. “He set us up,” he says.
The Imam nods.
“I believe he thought you would die quietly,” he says.
Then he adds, “But he underestimated what love can do.”
You tremble at that word, love.
You never thought you’d be the heroine of any story.
You were born blind, raised in contempt, tossed into the arms of a “beggar.”
And yet here you are, holding the hand of a hunted prince while an imam speaks of overthrowing a corrupt ruler.
You agree to leave before sunrise.
In the dark, you pack what little you have: a spare scarf, your braille book, the simple hairpin Yusha once bought you with coins he pretended came from begging.
Your hands move over each object like you’re saying goodbye to the life you thought you’d die in.
Yusha helps you wrap your book carefully, his touch tender.
“You don’t have to be fearless,” he whispers. “Just don’t let fear decide for you.”
Before dawn, you move quietly through the village with the Imam’s men.
You hear the soft crunch of dirt under sandals and boots, the distant call of a rooster, the hush of sleeping homes.
The world smells like smoke and cold earth.
For the first time, you understand that you’ve been living inside a cage without bars, and someone just opened the door.
They take you to a hidden compound outside town, where women cook and men stand watch.
A healer checks Yusha’s bruises and then examines you with gentle hands.
“Your pulse is fast,” she murmurs.
You laugh shakily. “It’s always fast now,” you admit.
