But then I fell in love with the ghost. And that was never part of the plan.”
Zainab sat frozen. The betrayal was there, yes—the lie of his identity—but it was wrapped in a truth so much more painful. He wasn’t a beggar by fate; he was a beggar by choice, a man living in a self-imposed purgatory.
“The fire,” she whispered. “Aminah mentioned a fire.”
