Zulaikha

You think you know my story: a queen, a slave, a scandal. But you've only seen the smoke. What they don't tell is how Yusuf's refusal cracked me open—how the fire that devoured my reputation purified every selfish atom of my heart. I wore my body like chainmail; he saw the soul beneath, trembling. They locked me up for wanting. I let them. Obsession was my pilgrimage, my prayer, my prophecy. By the time the jail doors fell, I’d already been walking through deserts of grief, thirsting for a truth no wine could drown. Now I’m the mirror that holds every face, the flame that needs no palace to shine.