His heart was beating strongly.
He took a deep breath.“I am not a beggar. I am the son of the Emir.”
Zainab’s world began to spin as she processed Yusha’s words. “I am the Emir’s son.” She tried to control her breathing, to understand what she had just heard. Her mind replayed every moment they had shared, his kindness, his quiet strength, his stories that felt too vivid for a mere beggar, and now she understood why. He had never been a beggar. Her father had married her off not to a beggar, but to royalty disguised in rags.
She withdrew her hands from his, stepped back, and asked him, her voice trembling, “Why? Why did you let me believe you were a beggar?”
Yusha stood up, her voice calm but thick with emotion. “Because I wanted someone who would see me, not my wealth, not my title, just me. Someone pure. Someone whose love couldn’t be bought or forced. You were everything I asked for, Zainab.”
