“Buy what you need,” he said. “And if the market is too crowded, don't hesitate to ask someone you trust for help.”
Zainab smiled. “I know the way.”
“I know you do,” he replied. “I only want you to be safe.”
His confidence in her abilities made her feel stronger. She tucked the purse into her clothing and set off, following the familiar sounds of the village.
The market was busy. Vendors called to customers, animals moved through the narrow lanes, and the air carried the scents of fresh bread, herbs, and vegetables. Zainab listened for the familiar voices of the sellers she knew. She purchased what she needed and was preparing to return home when someone seized her arm.
“Look at you,” a woman said sharply. “Still pretending that your life is wonderful?”
Zainab recognized the voice immediately.
“Aminah?”
Her sister laughed without warmth. “You remember my voice, at least.”
Zainab tried to free her arm. “Please let go. You're hurting me.”
Aminah released her, but she stayed close enough to block the path. She had come to the market with friends and seemed determined to make the encounter into a performance.
“So this is where you live now?” Aminah asked. “In a miserable hut with a beggar? Is that what you call happiness?”
Zainab felt embarrassment rising in her chest. Several people nearby had gone quiet, listening to the exchange. She remembered the laughter at her wedding and the way strangers had treated her marriage as a joke.
But she also remembered Yusha's patience, the tea he prepared, the blanket he gave her, and the stories they shared at night.
“I am happy with my husband,” she answered.
Aminah made a sound of disbelief.
“Happy? You have no idea what kind of man he is.”
Zainab tightened her grip on the small bag of vegetables. “If you have something to say about him, say it plainly.”
For a moment, Aminah hesitated. Then her voice became quieter.
“Yusha is not what you think. He is not really a beggar.”
The words struck Zainab like a sudden blow.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that you were lied to,” Aminah replied. “Ask him where he came from. Ask why he never tells you about his past. Ask why a man who claims to have nothing sometimes speaks as though he has lived among people far above us.”
Zainab felt the market shift around her. The sounds of vendors and footsteps seemed distant, as if she were listening from the bottom of a well.
“Why are you telling me this?” she asked.
“Because you should know how foolish you look,” Aminah said. “You think he loves you, but perhaps he is laughing at you too.”
The final sentence hurt more than the rest. Zainab could endure poverty. She could endure the judgment of strangers. What she feared was discovering that the one person who had treated her with tenderness had been deceiving her all along.
She turned away before Aminah could say more and followed the road home, repeating the directions in her mind. She did not cry until she reached the hut and closed the door behind her.
For hours, she sat on the mat, listening for Yusha's return. Every small sound made her lift her head. She remembered his hesitation when she had asked whether he had always been a beggar. At the time, she had interpreted his silence as pain. Now she wondered whether it had been concealment.
When Yusha finally arrived, he noticed immediately that something was wrong.
“Zainab?” he called. “Are you hurt?”
She did not answer at first.
He set down what he was carrying and approached her carefully. “Tell me what happened.”
“Aminah came to the market,” Zainab said. “She told me you are not really a beggar.”
Yusha became silent.
That silence frightened her more than any denial could have.
“Is it true?” she asked. “Who are you, Yusha? Why have you never told me about your life before you met me?”
He sat beside her, but he did not take her hands until she reached for him first.
“You deserve an honest answer,” he said.
“Then give me one.”
Yusha lowered his head. When he spoke again, his voice carried a sadness she had never heard before.
“There are things I should have told you. I thought I was protecting something important, but I see now that my silence has hurt you.”
Zainab's heart beat faster.
“Were you pretending to be poor?” she asked. “Did you marry me because someone told you to?”
“No,” he answered quickly. “I never wanted you to feel that our marriage was a joke. Whatever happens next, you must believe that I have never considered you a burden.”
“Then tell me the truth.”
Yusha took both her hands in his. For several moments, he said nothing. Then he knelt before her, as though preparing to confess something that had weighed on him for years.
“You were never supposed to learn this from your sister,” he said. “But I cannot keep hiding it from you.”
Zainab waited, barely breathing.
And Yusha began to tell her who he had been before the village knew him as a beggar.
Chapter 5: The Truth Behind Yusha's Disguise
Yusha took a long breath before he spoke.
“Before I came to this village,” he began, “I lived in a wealthy household. My father owned land, shops, and several homes. I grew up believing that money could solve almost every problem.”
Zainab listened without interrupting.
“My father taught me how to manage the family business, but he also taught me to judge people by their position. I saw how servants were treated, how poor people were ignored, and how quickly people changed their behavior when they learned that someone had money.”
Yusha paused.
“When my father died, relatives began fighting over the property. I discovered that people I had trusted were willing to lie to protect their interests. The arguments became so bitter that I eventually left. I wanted to understand what remained of me when I no longer had a title, a house, or money to make people listen.”