I respected my upbringing.

I believed in Allah with all my heart.

Yet the more I read the Bible, the more I felt something shifting inside me, something I had no words for, something I had no desire to acknowledge.

I felt guilty, afraid, confused.

I begged Allah to remove the curiosity from my heart, to silence the voice that kept pulling me back to the book.

But nothing changed.

If anything, the longing grew deeper.

The emptiness I had always carried now had a name.

It was being filled, not fully, but enough for me to realize that something new was happening in my soul.

I tried to stop reading.

I promised myself that I would not touch the Bible again.

I even hid it in a box beneath my wardrobe, hoping the distance would weaken the pool.

But each night, when the residence fell quiet, I returned to it.

I read in whispers.

Under dim light, with my bedroom door locked, I cried sometimes, overwhelmed by the words and frightened by how deeply they touched me.

I wondered if something was wrong with me, if I was weak, if I was being deceived.

But no matter how many arguments I raised in my mind, none could quiet the truth I felt growing inside me.

Something in those pages felt alive.

Something in them felt real in a way I had never experienced before.

It was during one of those late night readings that I encountered a verse in the Gospel of Matthew that struck me so deeply I could not stop thinking about it for days.

Come to me all you who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest.

The words pierced me like a whisper meant specifically for my soul.

I realized then that all the years of devotion, discipline and duty had not brought me rest.

They had brought pressure, responsibility and constant performance.

But rest, true rest, was something I had never known.

And here in a forbidden book, someone was offering it to me with a simplicity that shattered me.

That night, for the first time in my life, I spoke out loud into the darkness of my room.

Not in Arabic, not in ritual prayer, not with memorized words.

I whispered, “God, if this is you, show me.

” I did not know what I meant.

I did not understand what I was asking.

But the moment the words left my mouth, I felt something shift inside me.

a quiet stirring like a door opening somewhere deep within my soul.

I had no idea then how dangerous that whisper was.

I had no idea that my secret nights of reading were pushing me toward a fate that could cost me everything.

My family, my identity, my safety, even my life.

All I knew was that the forbidden book hidden under my mattress was changing me and I was powerless to stop it.

I didn’t know that the night I whispered, “God, if this is you, show me,” was the same night everything in my life began moving toward exposure.

I woke the next morning with a heaviness in my chest, as if something unseen was shifting in the atmosphere of the Al-Masila residence.

The villa felt different, not in appearance, but in mood.

The staff moved quietly, almost nervously, as they prepared for the day.

I tried to ignore the strange feeling and continued my routine, performing my morning prayer and reviewing the list of tasks my assistant had left outside my door.

But underneath everything, I felt anxiety rising like a tide I couldn’t control.

I blamed it on lack of sleep, on the weight of the forbidden secret I had been carrying, on the unsettling dreams I had been having.

I had no idea that the secret I tried so hard to hide was already slipping beyond my control.

After breakfast, I returned to my room to prepare for my Quran session.

I was searching for a pen I had misplaced while studying the previous night.

I pulled drawers open, lifted cushions, and rummaged through my bookshelf.

When I couldn’t find it, I knelt beside my bed to look underneath, and my heart stopped.

The Bible was no longer beneath my mattress.

For a moment, I froze completely.

My breath came out in a sharp, panicked gasp, and the entire room seemed to tilt around me.

I pushed my hair back with shaking hands and checked again, searching frantically under the bed, behind my pillows, inside the wardrobe, in every hiding spot I had ever used.

Nothing.

The book was gone.

A terrible chill ran down my spine as reality confronted me in a flood.

Someone had found it.

Someone had touched the one thing I had tried desperately to keep hidden.

Someone knew.

Before I could even stand, a sharp knock echoed at my door.

Loud, urgent, nothing like the respectful knocks of the staff.

I jumped, my heart racing so fast it hurt.

Without waiting for my response, the door swung open and my younger sister Miam rushed in.

Her face pale and eyes wide with something between shock and terror.

She held something in her hand, gripping it as if it burned her.

When her eyes met mine, they filled instantly with tears, not of sadness, but of fear.

“Line,” she whispered, breathless, shaking.

“What is this? Tell me this isn’t yours.

” She lifted her trembling hand and there it was, the Bible, the forbidden book I had been hiding for weeks.

She held it between two fingers like a dangerous object.

My vision blurred for a moment, my voice disappeared completely.

I stared at her and at the book, unable to form a single word.

The silence between us lasted only seconds, but it felt like a lifetime.

When I finally opened my mouth to speak, she stepped back horrified as if my words might confirm her worst fear.

“You have a Bible?” she whispered, her voice cracking.

“Do you know what this means? Do you know what they will do if they find out?” She backed toward the door, still staring at me like she was seeing a stranger.

Before I could explain, she turned and ran into the hallway, calling for our mother.

Her scream cut through the quiet halls like an alarm, and within seconds, everything exploded.

Footsteps thundered through the corridor.

Voices rose.

Guards appeared outside my doorway, uncertain and tense, and all I could do was stand frozen in the middle of my room.

Feeling the weight of my entire world collapsing.

My mother was the first to enter.

She pushed past the guards with trembling hands, still wearing her morning abaya, her hair uncovered, a sign of distress I had only seen once in my life.

She rushed to Miriam, who clung to her sobbing and pointing toward me.

My mother followed her gesture, and when her eyes fell on the Bible, she stopped breathing.

Her face drained of all color, her hand rose to her mouth as if trying to hold in a scream.

Then she looked at me not with anger but with disbelief so deep it crushed me.

“Line,” she whispered.

“What is this doing in your room?” Her voice trembled so violently I felt tears sting my own eyes.

I wanted to speak, to explain, to calm her.

But before I could take a step, two of my cousins, both sons of highranking uncles, entered the room behind her, their expressions dark and confused, ready to handle what they believed was a threat.

They took the Bible from my sister’s shaking hand and held it up as if it were evidence in a criminal case.

“Is this yours?” one of them demanded.

His voice echoed against the marble walls.

He wasn’t shouting, but the disappointment and accusation in his tone felt heavier than any scream.

I felt trapped, suffocated, cornered by my own silence.

I tried to speak, but my throat felt locked.

My mother stepped closer and grabbed my shoulders, her fingers trembling.

Lu Jane, answer them, she cried softly.

Tell them this is a misunderstanding.

Tell them this is not yours.

Her tears began falling freely, dripping onto her abaya.

But I couldn’t lie.

Not because I wanted to expose myself, but because something inside me, something that had awakened over the last weeks would not allow me to deny the truth.

So I whispered, barely audible.

It is mine.

The room erupted instantly.

My mother gasped and stumbled backward into Miriam’s arms, who clung to her in horror.

My cousins exchanged shocked, angry glances.

One of them shouted for the guards to close the door.

My sister covered her mouth to keep from screaming.

The guards outside stiffened as the tension crept through the hallway.

In that moment, I understood that my life had shifted into a different reality, a dangerous one.

My cousin approached me with a mix of fear and fury.

“Where did you get this?” he demanded.

“Who gave it to you? Who are you speaking to?” He fired the questions rapidly, as if trying to uncover a conspiracy.

My mother wiped her tears and whispered prayers under her breath, pleading with Allah to reverse what she was witnessing.

But no one in the room was more terrified than I was.

As I stood shaking, surrounded by my family, my second oldest brother, Fad, stormed into the room, his footsteps heavy with anger.

He must have heard the shouting from downstairs.

He stopped abruptly when he saw the Bible in my cousin’s hands.

His eyes widened, then narrowed with a rage I had never seen in him.

He grabbed the Bible, holding it tightly as if tempted to tear it apart.

What is this filth doing in my sister’s room? He demanded.

His voice was sharp enough to cut through the air.

He turned toward me, breathing heavily.

Tell me you didn’t bring this here.

Tell me you haven’t been reading it.

My mother sobbed harder in the background, whispering, “Ya Allah, protect us.

” I knew then that nothing I said could make this moment any softer.

Nothing could ease the shock that had already taken root.

I tried to explain, my voice cracking as I attempted to steady my breathing.

I found it.

I didn’t know.

I was curious.

But before I could finish, another figure appeared at the door.

The residence director, followed by additional royal guards who had been called due to the commotion.

They stiffened at the sight of the Bible, exchanging looks of alarm.

In our world, a Bible in the possession of a princess was not merely suspicious.

It was dangerous, a matter that could escalate to higher authorities within hours.

My brother stared at me in disbelief.

Then the anger inside him snapped.

He threw the Bible onto my bed as if it were poison.

“Do you realize what you have done?” he asked his voice breaking, “Do you understand what this means for our family, for our name, for our honor? This is not a joke, Lujane.

This is a betrayal.

” Before I could defend myself, the residence director approached cautiously and asked, “Should we report this to the royal court?” His question struck the room like lightning.

My mother instantly cried, “No, please.

No, not yet.

” She moved forward to shield me, gripping my arm tightly as if someone might drag me away at any moment.

My sister clung to her, trembling.

My cousins exchanged hesitant glances.

But my brother, breathing heavily, closed his eyes and whispered, “We cannot hide this.

This will not go away.

” His voice was quiet but final.

My stomach twisted painfully.

I felt dizziness creep up my spine.

The walls of my room felt like they were closing in, suffocating me.

I could not believe this was happening.

The secret I thought I could manage alone had become an inferno, blazing out of control.

A moment later, the one thing I feared most occurred.

My father entered the room.

He arrived earlier than expected, having been notified about something urgent happening at the princess residence.

I will never forget the look in his eyes when he stepped inside and saw everyone gathered around the Bible lying on my bed.

He did not ask questions at first.

He simply stared, stared at the book, stared at me, stared at my mother, crying uncontrollably.

His face hardened with an expression I had never seen before.

disappointment, shock, fear.

What is going on here? He asked, his voice heavy with controlled anger.

My cousin stepped forward and explained in broken sentences what they had found.

My mother begged him to stay calm.

My sister sobbed.

My brother stood stiffly, jaw clenched, eyes full of shame and frustration.

When my father finally turned to me, I felt my legs weaken.

Lu Jane, he said slowly, tell me this is not true.

His tone was not loud, but carried the full weight of authority.

Every fiber of my being wanted to ease his pain, to undo the damage, but I could not lie.

My silence told him everything.

His jaw tightened and he took a step back as if physically impacted by the truth.

“How long?” he asked.

“How long have you had this? How long have you been reading it? His voice trembled with anger and disbelief.

When I whispered, “A few weeks,” something inside him broke.

He brought his hand to his forehead, pacing slowly as if trying to regain control of his emotions.

The room remained dead silent, except for my mother’s sobs.

Then came the worst moment.

My father turned to the guards at the door and gave a command.

I had prayed would never come.

seal her chambers and notify the senior family council.

My mother fell to the floor crying, begging him not to escalate.

My sister tried to hold her up.

My cousins looked away in discomfort.

My brother placed his hand over his face in frustration.

But my father did not change his decision.

The moment he issued that order, I knew my fate was no longer in the hands of my immediate family.

My situation had become larger, more dangerous, more serious than anything I had ever faced.

The discovery of that Bible was no longer seen as a private issue.

It was now a matter of faith, honor, and royal law.

The guard stepped inside and positioned themselves at my door.

My father approached me one final time, his voice tight with pain.

“You have no idea what you have done,” he said quietly.

This is beyond a mistake, Lu Jane.

This is a crisis.

His words felt like a knife.

I wanted to scream that I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.

That I never intended to hurt my family.

That I was confused and lost and drowning in emotions I could not explain.

But all I could do was stand there shaking, unable to speak.

The room grew colder, quieter, heavier with every breath.

My mother finally stood wiping her tears and held my face in her tremblingo hands.

Why didn’t you talk to me? She whispered.

Why didn’t you tell anyone? I had no answer.

Because I didn’t know how.

The guards escorted my father, my cousins, and the residence director out of the room to discuss the next steps.

My mother and sister were ordered to leave as well.

Before she stepped out, my mother looked back at me with a devastated expression, torn between love and fear.

“Yabinti! What have you done?” she whispered.

Then she walked away slowly, letting the doors close behind her.

When the last footsteps faded, I finally let myself collapse onto the floor, burying my face in my hands.

My world had shattered in a single morning.

Everything I had known, my identity, my family’s trust, my role as a princess had cracked under the weight of a book I never intended to find.

I didn’t know then that this was only the beginning.

Worse decisions, harsher confrontations, and deeper fear were still ahead of me.

When the heavy doors shut behind my family and the guards, the silence inside my room became unbearable.

I remained sitting on the cold marble floor, my legs trembling and my chest tight, unable to comprehend how my life had collapsed so quickly.

Only a few hours earlier, everything seemed normal.

Now the walls felt like they were closing in on me, and the air felt thin, as if the whole world had suddenly shrunk to the size of my room.

I tried to breathe slowly, but each breath shook with panic.

I didn’t know what the senior family council would decide, but I knew it wouldn’t be light or merciful.

The discovery of that Bible was not something they could ignore.

Not in a royal family, not in a country where faith shaped every law and expectation.

I pressed my palm against my chest, trying to calm the anxiety building inside me, but nothing helped.

I felt like I was drowning in fear.

Hours passed, though I couldn’t keep track of time.

The guards outside my door didn’t move or speak.

Their presence felt like a reminder that I was no longer free.

I wanted to stand, to pace, to scream, but I remained frozen.

My mind kept replaying the look on my father’s face, shock, disappointment, pain.

I replayed my mother’s devastated voice, my sister’s trembling hands, my brother’s anger, my cousin’s disbelief.

Their reactions crushed me more than the fear of punishment.

I had not meant to betray anyone.

I had not planned any of this.

I had no intention of leaving Islam or dishonoring my family.

I only wanted to understand what I felt when I read the Bible.

But it no longer mattered what I intended.

Their interpretation was the only one that counted now.

Just before sunset, the guards finally opened the door.

My heart dropped as two of them stepped inside and gestured for me to follow.

My legs felt weak, but I forced myself to stand.

They let me out of my room and through the long hallway of the Al-Masila residence.

Everything around me looked different now.

Colder, heavier, more threatening.

The usual comfort of the place had vanished.

When we reached the main reception hall, I saw my father standing beside several uncles, two royal advisers, and three imams dressed in traditional white garments.

They stood near the long wooden council table, their expressions a grave.

My mother was nowhere in sight, nor were my siblings.

This was not a family discussion.

This was judgment.

My father didn’t speak at first.

He simply studied me, his face stern and unreadable.

One of the senior uncles motioned for me to sit, and I did, my hands trembling in my lap.

The imams watched me carefully and I felt their gaze like a weight pressing against my chest.

My father finally cleared his throat and the entire room shifted into absolute stillness.

Princess Lujine, he began using my full title instead of my name, something he only did in serious matters.

We have been forced to gather today because of a discovery made in your room.

A discovery, as you know, that cannot be ignored.

His voice remained controlled, but beneath it, I could hear the hurt he tried desperately to hide.

“You have been found in possession of a Bible,” he continued.

“This is a violation of our laws, our traditions, and our faith, and it raises questions that must be answered.

” One of the imams stepped forward, a respected religious figure from a major mosque in Kuwait City.

He looked at me with a mixture of sadness and authority.

“Princess,” he said softly.

“Tell us how this book entered your room.

” His voice was gentle, almost sympathetic, but his eyes remained sharp.

“I wanted to answer calmly, but my voice cracked as I spoke.

” “I found it,” I said barely audible.

in the sitting room weeks ago.

The imam exchanged glances with the others and instead of reporting it, “You kept it,” he said.

“Why?” The question hit me like a blow.

I felt my throat tighten.

I didn’t want to lie, but I also didn’t want to reveal the truth that would destroy me completely.

I was curious, I whispered.

Nothing more.

The imam nodded slowly.

Though his eyes held a deeper question, he didn’t voice.

Another imam stepped forward, older, stern, respected for his strict interpretation of Islamic law.

His tone was less gentle.

Continue reading….
« Prev Next »