Her heart thudded in her chest, but she urged him to continue. “Then who were you?”

“My family was once well-off,” Yusha began, his voice steady but laced with old pain. “We lived in the city, and my father ran a successful business. But when he died, everything changed. My uncle took over and squandered our wealth. I was left with nothing. To survive, I came to this village and started begging. It was the only way I knew how to start again.”

Zainab listened intently, her fingers tracing the lines of his palm as if they held the map of his life story. She didn’t know what to say, but she felt an overwhelming sense of compassion and respect for him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked softly.