The Princess Who Died and Saw Eternity: A Testimony That Shook the Islamic World

Saudi Princess Was CAST INTO THE FLAMES… but THE FIRE BOWED TO JESUS

PART 7: THE COST OF TRUTH

When I was finally discharged from the hospital, I returned to the palace. But it didn’t feel like home anymore. The beautiful rooms felt like a prison. The luxury felt meaningless. I had seen eternal things and earthly things had lost their shine.

My family was cold toward me. They watched me carefully, waiting to see if I would continue speaking about my experience. They had decided among themselves that if I just stopped talking about it, they could pretend it never happened. They could tell people I had been confused, that the near-death experience had temporarily affected me, but that I was better now.

But I wasn’t going to stay quiet. I started speaking about Jesus to anyone who would listen. I told the servants what I had seen. I told my siblings. I tried to tell my parents, but they refused to hear it.

The pressure began to build. My mother would cry and beg me to stop. My father would rage at me, telling me I was destroying the family’s honor. My siblings avoided me. The servants whispered about me. They brought religious scholars to talk to me—men who were supposed to be wise, who were supposed to be able to answer any question, to defend Islam against any challenge.

But I had seen the truth. Their arguments fell flat. Their explanations didn’t hold up against what I had witnessed.

One night, there was a family meeting. I wasn’t invited, but I could hear them talking in my father’s study. They were discussing what to do about me. Some suggested I should be sent away, perhaps to a psychiatric hospital. Others said I should be married quickly to a very religious man who could bring me back to Islam. My father said he was considering taking away my phone, restricting my movements, keeping me under close watch until I came to my senses.

I realized then that I couldn’t stay. If I stayed, they would find a way to silence me. They would lock me away or marry me off or break me down until I renounced what I had seen. But Jesus had told me to tell people, to share the truth, to warn others. I couldn’t do that imprisoned in a palace, even a beautiful one.

I began to plan my escape. It sounds dramatic—a princess planning to run away from the palace. But that’s what it was. I couldn’t just walk out the front door. I was watched, guarded. My movements were monitored.

I reached out online to the underground Christian community I had discovered. Yes, there are Christians in Kuwait. Secret believers who meet in homes, who worship in whispers, who risk everything to follow Jesus. They had networks to help people like me. People who had left Islam and needed help getting to safety.

The night I left, I packed only one small bag. I looked around my enormous bedroom one last time—at the closets full of expensive clothes, at the jewelry I was leaving behind, at the luxury and comfort I had known my entire life. I thought about what Jesus had said: “Whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for his sake will find it. What profit is it if someone gains the whole world but loses their soul?”

I was giving up the world, but I was gaining eternity.

I slipped out of my room late at night. The palace was quiet. I made my way through the dark corridors, past the sleeping servants quarters, toward a side entrance that I knew was less guarded. My heart was pounding so hard I thought everyone in the palace could hear it. Every shadow made me jump. Every sound made me freeze.

But I made it to the door. And when I stepped out into the cool night air, I felt the strangest mixture of grief and freedom.

A car was waiting for me, driven by someone from the underground church. I got in without looking back. If I had looked back at the palace—at the only home I had ever known—I might have lost my courage.

As we drove away, I pulled out my phone. I sent one final message to my mother. I told her I loved her. I told her I was sorry for the pain I was causing. I told her that I had found the truth and I couldn’t deny it. I told her that I was praying she would find it too. That I was praying for the whole family, that I would always love them, but I had to follow Jesus.

Then I turned off my phone. I knew they would try to track it, try to find me, try to bring me back.

I watched the city lights fade behind us as we drove into the darkness. I was leaving behind everything. My name, my title, my family, my country, my old life. But I was following him, and he was all I needed.

The tears came then. Great heaving sobs. The kind of crying that comes from deep in your soul. I was grieving. Grieving the loss of my family. Grieving the loss of the life I had known. Grieving the fact that it had come to this.

But underneath the grief was something else, something I had never felt before.

True freedom.

For the first time in my life, I was free. Free to follow the truth. Free to worship Jesus openly. Free to be who he had created me to be.

PART 8: NEW LIFE, NEW PURPOSE

The car drove through the night for hours. I dozed occasionally, but never truly slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my mother’s face. I heard her crying. I imagined my father’s rage when they discovered I was gone.

By morning, we arrived at a safe house in a neighboring country. I won’t tell you which country. There are still people looking for me, and I need to protect those who are helping me.

The safe house was nothing like the palace. It was a small apartment in an ordinary building. The furniture was simple. The bathroom was tiny. There was no marble, no crystal, no gold. But there was peace.

The people who welcomed me were Christians. Some of them were former Muslims like me. Others had been Christian their whole lives. But all of them understood what it meant to risk everything for Jesus. They fed me. They prayed with me. They let me cry and talk and process what I had just done.

One woman, a former Muslim from Egypt, held my hand as I wept. She told me she understood. She had left her family too. She had walked the same painful path. She told me it would get harder before it got easier, but that Jesus would be faithful, that he would never abandon me.

Over the next few days, more of my story came out in the news. Not the full story, but enough. A Kuwaiti princess had disappeared. The family was searching for her. There were rumors she had been radicalized, that she had been kidnapped, that she had run away.

I saw the statements my family released. They said I was confused, that I had been traumatized by my near-death experience, that I needed medical help. They appealed for anyone who knew where I was to contact them immediately.

Reading those statements broke my heart—not because they were lying, though they were, but because I could read between the lines. I could see their shame, their fear, their pain, and I had caused it.

But I had to keep reminding myself why I had left. I had a message to deliver. A truth to tell. People needed to hear about Jesus, about hell, about heaven, about salvation.

The underground church helped me begin to heal. They taught me about the Bible. They explained Christian theology. They answered the thousands of questions I had. They helped me understand what it meant to follow Jesus—not just as an intellectual belief, but as a daily walk.

And they baptized me.

It was done in secret in the middle of the night in someone’s bathtub. It wasn’t grand or ceremonial. There was no church building, no pastor in robes, no audience. Just a few believers gathered in a bathroom witnessing my public declaration of faith in Jesus.

But it was the most beautiful moment of my life.

As I went under the water, I thought about the old Shika Fajair dying. The one who had tried to earn salvation through works. The one who had been empty and lost. And as I came up out of the water, I felt the truth of it. I was a new creation. The old had passed away. The new had come.

We worshiped together that night, singing softly so the neighbors wouldn’t hear. But the joy in that little bathroom was greater than any celebration I had ever attended in the palace.

After a few weeks, it became clear I couldn’t stay where I was. The search for me was intensifying. There were reports that my family had hired people to find me, that they were pressuring governments, using their influence and connections.

So I moved again, and then again. I became someone who lived out of a single bag, never staying in one place too long, always looking over my shoulder. But in the midst of that instability, I found my purpose.

I started sharing my testimony online. At first, I did it anonymously. I recorded my story without showing my face, without using my real name. I told people what I had seen—about hell, about Jesus, about heaven, about the truth.

The response was overwhelming. Thousands of people watched, then tens of thousands, then hundreds of thousands. Messages poured in from Muslims all over the world. Some were angry, calling me a liar and a traitor. But others were different.

Some said they had been searching for truth and my story had opened their eyes. Others said they had had similar experiences—dreams of Jesus, visions, moments where they questioned Islam but were afraid to say it out loud. Still others said they were secret believers following Jesus in Muslim countries, living double lives out of fear.

I realized I wasn’t alone. There was a whole movement of Muslims coming to Christ. Some through dreams and visions, others through reading the Bible, others through the testimony of bold believers. And my story was becoming part of that.

I started receiving specific messages from people in Kuwait—people who knew me. Some were curious, wanting to know if the rumors were true. Others were concerned for my safety. A few even said they believed me, that they wanted to know more about Jesus.

I began to disciple new believers online. Secret video calls in the middle of the night, encrypted messages, teaching them about Jesus, helping them understand the Bible, praying with them, walking them through their own journeys of leaving Islam and following Christ.

And I watched as the fruit multiplied. People I led to Christ were leading others to Christ. A network was forming. The seeds that Jesus had planted through my near-death experience were growing into a harvest.

But the cost remained high. I received death threats regularly—detailed messages describing what would happen to me if I was found. Some came from strangers, others came from people I used to know. The religion I had left behind didn’t take kindly to those who abandoned it.

And then there were the messages from my family. My younger sister managed to find a way to contact me. She begged me to come home. She said my mother was sick with grief, that my father had aged years in months, that the family was falling apart. She said they would forgive me if I just came back and stopped this foolishness.

Reading her message, I cried for hours. I wanted to go home. I wanted to hug my mother. I wanted to make everything right. But I couldn’t deny Jesus. I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t seen what I saw. I couldn’t go back to Islam knowing it was a lie.

I wrote my sister back. I told her I loved her. I told her I was sorry for the pain. But I also told her why I couldn’t come back. I told her about Jesus, about what he had done for me, about what he wanted to do for her.

She never responded. My message was probably intercepted, or perhaps she chose not to reply. Either way, the silence hurt.

As time went on, I had to accept a painful reality. I might never see my family again in this life. They had made their choice. I had made mine. And unless they came to Jesus, our paths would not cross again until eternity. And then it would be too late.

That grief never fully goes away. Even now, years later, I think about them every day. I pray for them every day. I pray that somehow my testimony will reach them. That they will see the truth before it’s too late.

PART 9: A LIFE TRANSFORMED

Eventually, I was able to relocate to a country where I had more freedom, where I could practice Christianity openly without fear of immediate death, where I could start to build something resembling a normal life. But normal is relative.

I live in a modest apartment now—nothing like the palace. I work a simple job to support myself. I dress simply. I live simply by the world’s standards, especially the standards of the world I came from. I have nothing. But I have everything.

I have Jesus. I have salvation. I have peace. I have purpose. I have a family of believers who love me and support me. I have the joy of seeing Muslims come to faith. I have the hope of eternity in heaven.

Every Sunday, I gather with other believers to worship. Some of them are former Muslims like me. Others come from different backgrounds. But we are all one in Christ. And when we worship together, when we sing praises to Jesus, I am reminded of what I saw in heaven. That one day we will worship him face to face.

My ministry has grown. I now speak at churches and conferences, telling my story to encourage believers and reach the lost. I run an online ministry specifically for Muslims who are seeking truth. I’ve written my testimony in multiple languages so it can reach more people. And I’ve seen the fruit. I’ve baptized former Muslims who came to Christ through my testimony. I’ve received messages from people in countries I’ve never been to telling me that my story changed their life.

I’ve watched as God has taken the most painful experience of my life and used it for his glory.

But I want to be honest with you: it’s not always easy. There are days when I miss my family so much it physically hurts. There are days when I’m tired of looking over my shoulder, tired of being careful, tired of living in partial hiding. There are days when I wonder what my life would have been like if I had never died that night. If I had never seen hell. If I had never met Jesus.

Would I have lived a comfortable life in the palace? Would I have married some wealthy man and had children and grown old in luxury and comfort? Maybe.

But I also would have died and gone to hell.

And when I think about it that way, the choice becomes clear. I would rather have this difficult life and eternity in heaven than an easy life and eternity in hell.

Jesus promised that following him would cost something. He said we would have to take up our cross daily. He said the world would hate us because it hated him first. He never promised ease or comfort or acceptance. But he did promise that he would be with us always, that he would never leave us or forsake us, that his grace would be sufficient, that his power would be made perfect in our weakness.

And I have found every one of those promises to be true.

There are moments of incredible joy in this life I now live. Moments when I’m praying with a Muslim who just accepted Jesus as their savior and I see the light come on in their eyes the same way it came on in mine. Moments when I’m worshiping Jesus with other believers and I feel his presence so strongly that I’m overwhelmed with gratitude. Moments when I’m reading the Bible and the words jump off the page and speak directly to my situation.

These moments make everything worthwhile.

I often think about the people I saw in hell—the imam who taught me, the scholars, my uncle, the countless others who died thinking they were on the right path. I wonder if anyone tried to tell them about Jesus. I wonder if they heard the gospel and rejected it. I wonder if they had a chance.

And then I think about the people who are alive right now. Muslims all over the world. Sincere people trying to earn their way to paradise. People like I was. People who are headed for the same eternity I saw.

That’s why I can’t be silent. That’s why I risk everything to tell this story. Because people need to know. They need to know that Jesus is real. That he loves them. That he died for them. That salvation is a free gift, not something to be earned. They need to know that hell is real, that it’s not just a metaphor or a scare tactic, that it’s an actual place where actual people spend eternity, and that it’s populated not just by bad people, but by religious people who trusted in their works instead of in Jesus.

They need to know that heaven is real. That it’s more glorious than anything we can imagine. That it’s waiting for everyone who believes in Jesus. That it’s worth any sacrifice, any suffering, any cost.

PART 10: A MESSAGE TO THE WORLD

If you’re watching this right now and you’re Muslim, I want you to know something. I understand where you are. I was there. I know what it’s like to be devoted to Islam. I know what it’s like to pray five times a day and fast during Ramadan and try so hard to be good enough. I also know what it’s like to feel empty inside despite all the religious observance. To wonder if your good deeds will really be enough. To fear what happens after death.

I’m here to tell you that there is an answer to that emptiness. His name is Jesus. He’s not just a prophet. He’s the son of God. He’s the savior of the world and he loves you more than you can possibly imagine.

I know what it costs to follow him. I know you might lose your family, your friends, your community, your reputation, maybe even your life. I’m not going to lie to you and tell you it’s easy. It’s not.

But I’m also going to tell you that he is worth it. That knowing him, truly knowing him, is better than anything this world has to offer. That the peace he gives is real. That the joy he gives is unshakable. That the hope he gives is certain.

If you’ve been having dreams about Jesus, pay attention. That’s him calling you. If you’ve been questioning Islam, that’s the Holy Spirit working in your heart. If you’re watching this video right now, that’s not an accident. God is pursuing you.

All you have to do is respond. Admit that you’re a sinner. Believe that Jesus is the son of God who died for your sins and rose again. Confess him as your Lord and Savior. Trust in him alone for salvation, not in your works or your religion.

It’s that simple. And yet, it changes everything.

If you’re a Christian watching this, I want to encourage you. Don’t give up on Muslims. Pray for them. Share the gospel with them. Love them. Many of them are sincere seekers who just haven’t heard the truth yet.

And if you’re someone who doesn’t know what to believe, I want you to consider what I’ve told you. I’m not asking you to just take my word for it. Seek Jesus for yourself. Read the Bible. Pray and ask God to reveal the truth to you. He will answer that prayer.

EPILOGUE: ETERNITY AWAITS

As I close this testimony, I want to tell you where I am today. I’m still living in exile from my home country. I still look over my shoulder. I still miss my family every single day. The cost of following Jesus has not decreased.

But neither has my joy. Neither has my peace. Neither has my certainty that I made the right choice.

I have a picture of my family that I keep in my apartment. It’s from before everything happened, when we were all together and happy. Sometimes I look at that picture and cry. I think about my mother’s laugh, my father’s rare smiles, my siblings’ jokes, the life we shared.

And I pray. I pray that one day they will know Jesus too. That they will understand why I did what I did. That we will be reunited not in the palace in Kuwait, but in the kingdom of heaven.

I pray that for all of you, too. That whether you’re Muslim, Christian, or something else, you will find Jesus. That you will experience the love and grace and mercy that he offers. That you will spend eternity with him in paradise.

Because that’s what this is all about. Not religion, not rules, not rituals, but relationship. A personal, intimate relationship with the God who created you, who loves you, who died for you.

I found that relationship on the other side of death. But you don’t have to die to find it. You can find it right now. Wherever you are, whatever your background, Jesus is calling. He’s been calling you your whole life.

The question is: will you answer?

I did, and it cost me everything. But I gained infinitely more than I lost.

My name is Shika Fajair. I died and met Jesus. He showed me hell so I could warn others. He showed me heaven so I could have hope. He sent me back so I could tell you the truth.

The truth is this: Jesus Christ is the son of God. He is the only way to the father. He is the only name under heaven by which we must be saved. He loves you. He died for you. He rose for you. And he’s waiting for you.

What will you do with that truth?

As for me, I will spend the rest of my life proclaiming it. No matter the cost, no matter the consequences, because I have seen eternity, and I know what’s at stake.

I pray that my story has touched your heart, that it has opened your eyes, that it has drawn you closer to Jesus. He is real. Heaven is real. Hell is real. And the choice you make about him determines where you spend eternity.

Choose wisely. Choose Jesus.

And if you do, I look forward to meeting you one day in heaven where there will be no more tears, no more pain, no more separation, where we will worship him together for all eternity.

Until then, may God bless you and keep you. May he make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you. May he turn his face toward you and give you peace in Jesus’ name.

Amen.