Rain settled over the valley like a soft gray curtain, covering the stones of the old family estate and turning the paths into narrow streams. Inside the house, the scent of incense mixed with the faint metallic smell of silverwork from the rooms where Malik, Zainab’s father, spent most of his days. Zainab sat quietly in the corner of the living room, listening to the familiar sounds around her. She had been blind since birth, so she knew her home through echoes, footsteps, scents, and textures.
She could recognize her father’s footsteps without anyone telling her who had entered the room. Malik walked heavily, as though every step carried the weight of his family’s expectations. To him, appearances and reputation mattered more than kindness. Zainab’s two sisters, Aminah and Laila, received his attention because they fit the image he wanted the family to present to the outside world. Zainab, however, had always been treated as someone who needed to be hidden away.
She had learned long ago not to expect affection from him.
One afternoon, Malik entered the room and stopped beside her chair.
“Get up,” he said.