I am Princess Amira Bint Abdullah al- Sawud, a member of the Saudi royal family.

I grew up in palaces surrounded by wealth most people cannot imagine.

I had everything except freedom and truth.

Then I enrolled in a university program to study the science of dreams on urology.

For my research project, I disguised myself as an ordinary woman and conducted a survey across Saudi Arabia.

interviewing over 300 people about their dreams.

What I discovered shattered everything I believed.

More than 100 Saudis, over one-third told me they had the same dream.

A man in white, glowing, speaking Arabic, saying, “I am the way, the truth, and the life.

Follow me.

” They had never read the Bible.

They did not know those were the exact words of Jesus from the Gospel of John, but they were encountering him supernaturally.

I tried to explain it scientifically.

I could not.

So I started researching Jesus myself.

And then one night in my bedroom in the royal palace in Riyad, he appeared to me.

He took me to heaven.

He took me to hell.

And he gave me a choice.

That choice cost me everything.

my family, my country, my name, my title.

But it gave me the one thing that matters, eternal life.

This is my testimony.

This is how Jesus is invading Saudi Arabia through dreams and why the government is terrified.

But let me start frm, the beginning.

I am 28 years old and I was born in Riyad, the capital of Saudi Arabia on a cold winter morning in January 1997.

I am a member of the Saudi royal family.

Not immediate family to the king, but close enough that my name carries weight.

Close enough that I grew up in palaces.

Close enough that I have lived behind walls my entire life.

My father Abdullah bin Fisal al- Sah is a senior official in the Ministry of Energy and a successful businessman with investments in real estate, telecommunications, and oil.

My mother Latifah comes from another prominent family connected to the royal court.

I have two older brothers, Fisizel who is 32 and works in the Saudi sovereign wealth fund and Khaled who is 30 and serves in the Ministry of Interior.

I have one younger sister Nor who is 24 and recently married to a prince from another branch of the family.

We are not the immediate ruling family, but we are close enough to power that our lives are defined by wealth, privilege, and control.

I grew up in a massive palace compound in the diplomatic quarter of Riyad, one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in Saudi Arabia.

Our home sits on several acres of land surrounded by high walls, security cameras, and armed guards at every gate.

Inside the compound there are multiple buildings.

The main palace where my parents live, a guest palace for important visitors and smaller villas for extended family.

The gardens are beautiful, filled with imported palm trees, fountains, and marble pathways.

Everything is designed to display wealth and status.

But despite all the beauty, it has always felt like a cage to me.

a golden cage, luxurious and comfortable, but a cage nonetheless.

I could not leave without permission.

I could not go anywhere without a driver and security.

I could not make decisions about my own life without approval from my father or brothers.

That is what it means to be a woman in the Saudi royal family.

You have everything except freedom.

My childhood was not like the childhood of ordinary Saudi girls.

And it was certainly nothing like the childhood of girls in the west.

I did not go to public school.

I had private tutors who came to the palace to teach me Arabic literature, mathematics, science, English, and French.

I had a religious instructor, a stern woman named Ustad Hamuna who taught me Quran memorization, Islamic Jewish prudence, and the principles of Wahhabi Islam that dominate Saudi society.

From the time I was 6 years old, I wore the abaya, the long black cloak, whenever I left the palace.

By the time I was 10, I wore the nikab, the face veil, covering everything except my eyes.

Thus, obedience and silence were drilled into me every single day.

I was taught that my role in life was to honor my family, marry well, produce children, and uphold the reputation of the al-Sawwood name.

My dreams, my desires, my opinions, none of that mattered.

My father is a distant figure in my life.

In Saudi culture, fathers and daughters do not have close personal relationships.

He provided for me, ensured I had the best education money could buy, and made decisions about my future.

But we rarely spoke directly.

When he did speak to me, it was to give instructions or to remind me of my responsibilities to the family.

My mother is more present, but her love is expressed through control.

She manages the household, organizes social events for elite women, and ensures that my sister and I are trained to be perfect Saudi wives.

She chose my clothes, monitored my behavior, and constantly reminded me that I represented the family and must never bring shame.

Love in my family is not warm or affectionate.

It is conditional based on obedience and performance.

The rhythm of my life was built entirely around Islamic practice and royal obligations.

Every day began before dawn with the call to prayer echoing from the mosque near our compound.

I would get up, perform woodoo, the ritual washing and pray fajar, the dawn prayer.

After prayer, I would have breakfast with my mother and sister.

Then spend the morning studying with my tutors or attending lectures online.

My father decided that I should study something appropriate for a woman of my status.

So he allowed me to pursue a degree in psychology through a distance learning program.

I was not permitted to attend university abroad like my brothers.

That would have been too much freedom, too much risk.

So I studied from home, isolated, monitored, controlled.

Afternoons were spent attending women onlyly social gatherings, charity events organized by the royal family or shopping trips to luxury malls with my mother and sister.

Always accompanied by drivers and security guards.

Evenings were for family dinners, more prayers and then back to my room.

I prayed five times a day every single day without fail.

Fajar before dawn, gur at noon, assur in the afternoon, Mghreb at sunset and isha at night.

I fasted during Ramadan.

I gave charity.

I read the Quran.

I did everything a good Muslim woman from a royal family was supposed to do.

But inside, I felt absolutely nothing.

Prayer felt mechanical, like checking boxes on a list.

Fasting felt like endurance, not devotion.

Quran recitation felt like repeating words in a language I understood grammatically, but that never touched my soul.

I went through all the motions perfectly, flawlessly.

But my heart was somewhere else, somewhere I could not reach.

I thought maybe this was normal.

Maybe everyone felt this way.

Maybe faith was not supposed to feel like anything.

Maybe it was just duty, just obligation, just performance.

So I kept going.

I kept pretending.

But the emptiness inside me grew heavier with every passing year.

When I turned to 25, my father informed me during a formal family meeting that I was engaged.

He did not ask my opinion.

He simply announced it.

My future husband was Prince Manzour bin Salman, a distant cousin, a man in his early 40s who worked in the Ministry of Defense.

I had met him twice at family gatherings.

He barely looked at me.

He barely spoke to me.

But my father explained that the marriage would strengthen ties between our branch of the family and another influential branch.

It was a political arrangement, a business transaction.

My mother smiled and congratulated me.

My brothers nodded with approval.

My sister looked at me with pity but said nothing.

I sat there with my hands folded in my lap, my face covered by my nikab and said the only thing I was allowed to say.

Yes, father.

The wedding was set for two years away to give me time to prepare.

My life had been arranged like furniture in a room I would live in forever, and I had no say in any of it.

Around the same time, something inside me began to shift.

I had always been fascinated by dreams.

From the time I was a child, I had vivid, strange dreams that I could remember in detail.

I would dream of places I had never been, people I had never met, conversations that felt more real than my waking life.

In Islam, dreams are considered significant.

The Quran mentions prophetic dreams and there is an entire tradition of dream interpretation in Islamic scholarship.

But I wanted to understand dreams from a scientific perspective, not just a religious one.

So I started researching the field of dream study and I discovered something called onology the scientific study of dreams.

It was a legitimate field of research that explored the causes, functions and interpretation of dreams using neuroscience, brain imaging, EEG and polyomnography.

It focused on empirical evidence on brain activity during REM sleep on the connection between dreams and mental states.

This was not mystical or symbolic.

This was science.

And I was fascinated.

I found a university that offered a distance learning program in Oniology, Bertam International University, BIOU.

It was an accredited institution that allowed students from all over the world to study remotely.

I applied without telling my father, using my own money from a personal allowance I had saved.

When I was accepted, I presented it to him as a continuation of my psychology degree, a specialization that would make me more knowledgeable and useful in royal charity work related to mental health.

He approved it, probably because it kept me busy and at home.

He had no idea what I was actually studying.

For the next year, I immersed myself in the science of dreams.

I learned about the stages of sleep, about REM cycles, about how the brain processes emotions and memories during dreams.

I learned about lucid dreaming, about nightmares, about the theories that tried to explain why we dream at all.

Some scientists said dreams were just random neural firing, the brain processing information.

Others said dreams had psychological meaning that they revealed subconscious desires and fears.

I read everything I could find, fascinated by the mystery of what happens when we close our eyes and enter another world.

Then about halfway through my program, I was given an assignment that would change my life forever.

My professor assigned a field research project.

He said each student needed to conduct a survey on dream patterns in their local population, collect data, analyze it, and submit a research paper on the findings.

The goal was to see if there were common themes, recurring symbols, or patterns that appeared across different people in the same culture.

I was supposed to interview at least 200 people, ask them about their dreams, document the responses, and look for trends.

For the first time in my life, I had an academic reason to leave the palace to interact with ordinary people to step outside the bubble I had lived in my entire life.

I asked my father for permission to conduct the research, explaining that it was required for my degree.

He agreed but with conditions.

I had to be accompanied by a driver and a female chaperon at all times.

I had to stay within Riyad and other major cities.

I had to complete the research quickly and return home each evening.

I agreed to all of it.

But I had a plan.

I knew that if I showed up as Princess Amira Bint Abdullah al- Saud dressed in designer clothes arriving in a royal convoy, people would not be honest with me.

They would tell me what they thought I wanted to hear.

They would be nervous, intimidated, careful with their words.

I would never get real data that way.

So, I decided to disguise myself.

I borrowed plain simple abias from one of our housekeepers, the kind that ordinary Saudi women wear, inexpensive and unremarkable.

I wore a basic black nikab with no embroidery or decoration.

I removed all my jewelry, all signs of wealth.

I asked my driver to drop me off in public places, markets, cafes, parks, and I told him to wait at a distance.

I carried a clipboard and a pen and I approached people as a university student conducting research for a class project.

No one knew I was a princess.

No one recognized me.

For the first time in my life, I was anonymous.

I was invisible and it was the most liberating feeling I had ever experienced.

I started my survey in Riyad.

Then traveled to Jeda Mecca and Medina with my chaperon.

Always maintaining my disguise.

I interviewed hundreds of people, men and women, young and old, wealthy and poor.

I asked them simple questions.

Do you remember your dreams? How often do you dream? What do you usually dream about? Have you ever had a dream that felt significant or unusual? Most people gave predictable answers.

They dreamed about daily life, about work, about family.

Some had nightmares.

Some had recurring dreams.

It was all normal, expected, exactly what my textbooks had described.

But then about 3 weeks into my research, I started noticing something strange.

A pattern that I could not explain.

A pattern that did not fit any scientific model I had studied.

And that pattern would lead me to a truth that would destroy everything I thought I knew and rebuild my life from the ground up.

The pattern started in Riyad.

I was conducting interviews at a women’s section of a public library when I spoke to a woman in her mid-30s named Fatima.

She was a school teacher married with three children and she seemed nervous when I approached her with my clipboard.

I explained that I was a university student doing research on dreams and asked if she would be willing to answer a few questions.

She agreed and we sat down in a quiet corner.

I went through my standard questions and she gave normal answers until I asked her if she had ever had a dream that felt particularly significant or unusual.

She hesitated, looked around to make sure no one else was listening, and then leaned closer to me.

She said in a low voice, “I have had the same dream three times in the last two months, and I do not know what it means.

I am afraid to tell anyone because I think people will say I am crazy or that I have been deceived by Shayan.

I assured her that whatever she told me would be confidential that I was only collecting data for academic purposes.

She took a deep breath and began to describe her dream.

She said that in the dream she was standing in a bright place not like earth but somewhere that felt peaceful and safe.

A man appeared in front of her dressed in white clothing that seemed to glow.

She said his face was difficult to look at directly because of the brightness, but she could see that he had Middle Eastern features, dark hair, a beard, and eyes that were full of love and compassion.

He spoke to her in Arabic, and his voice was gentle but powerful.

He said, “Fatima, I know you are searching for peace.

I am the way, the truth, and the life.

Come to me and I will give you rest.

She said she woke up crying, feeling an overwhelming sense of love that she had never experienced before.

She asked me what I thought it meant.

I did not know what to say.

I wrote down her description carefully, thanked her for sharing, and moved on to the next person.

At that moment, I dismissed it as an isolated incident, maybe influenced by stress or something she had seen on television, but I noted it in my research journal as an unusual case.

2 days later, I was interviewing people at a park in northern Riyad when I spoke to a young man in his early 20s named Ahmed.

He was a university student studying engineering.

When I asked him about significant dreams, he hesitated just like Fatima had.

Then he told me that he had been having a recurring dream for the past month.

He described almost the exact same thing.

A man in white glowing, speaking Arabic, saying, “I am the way, the truth, and the life.

I love you.

Follow me.

” Ahmed said the man called him by name in the dream and he felt a love so strong that he woke up sobbing.

He said he had tried to ignore the dream but it kept coming back.

He asked me if I thought it was from Allah or from Shayan.

I did not answer.

I just documented his testimony and thanked him.

My heart was starting to race.

Two people completely unconnected describing nearly identical dreams.

That was statistically unusual.

It could still be coincidence, I told myself.

Maybe it was a cultural phenomenon, something in the collective unconscious of Saudi society.

But I needed more data.

Over the next 2 weeks, I continued my survey in Riyad and then traveled to Jeda on the West Coast.

I interviewed more than 100 people and the pattern became undeniable.

Out of every 10 people I interviewed, at least two or three described the same dream, a man in white, glowing, Middle Eastern features, speaking Arabic, saying the same phrases.

I am the way, the truth, and the life.

Come to me.

I love you.

Follow me.

Some people said the man called them by name.

Some said he touched them and they felt peace.

Some said he showed them wounds on his hands and feet.

Some said he told them, “I died for you.

” The descriptions were too consistent, too specific, too widespread to be coincidence.

I was encountering this testimony from people of all ages, all backgrounds, all economic levels.

a taxi driver in Jada, a shopkeeper in Riyad, a doctor, a housewife, a teenager, a grandmother.

People who had never met each other, who lived in different cities, who had no reason to coordinate their stories.

And yet, they were all describing the same figure, the same words, the same overwhelming sense of love.

I was deeply disturbed.

My scientific training told me to look for rational explanations.

Maybe there was a television program or a social media campaign that had influenced people’s dreams.

Maybe there was a psychological phenomenon I was not aware of.

Maybe it was mass hysteria or suggestion.

I researched everything I could find, but I could not find any external source that matched what people were describing.

No TV show, no viral video, no cultural event that could explain this.

And then I started noticing something else that made my skin crawl.

When I asked people if they knew who the man in the dream was, most of them said the same thing.

They said, “I think it was Isa al- Masi.

” Issa Jesus, the prophet that Christians worshiped as God.

The prophet that we Muslims were taught was just a messenger, nothing more.

Why were Muslims across Saudi Arabia dreaming about Issa? And why was he saying things that sounded like they came from the Christian Bible, not from the Quran? I had been raised to believe that Christianity was a corrupted religion, that Christians had distorted the message of Isa and turned him into a god when he was only a man.

I had been taught that the Bible was taught that the unreliable, that only the Quran contained the pure word of Allah.

But now I was hearing testimonies from ordinary Saudis, devout Muslims, people who had never read the Bible, people who had never met a Christian.

And they were all encountering this figure who identified himself using words I had never heard in Islamic teaching.

I am the way, the truth, and the life.

That phrase kept appearing over and over in the testimonies.

I did not recognize it.

I did not know where it came from.

So, I did what any researcher would do.

I started searching.

I opened my laptop late one night in my bedroom in the palace, turned on my VPN to bypass the Saudi internet censorship, and I typed the phrase into a search engine.

The results came back immediately.

It was a Bible verse.

John 14:6.

Jesus answered, “I am the way and the truth and the life.

No one comes to the father except through me.

I stared at the screen, my hands shaking.

People were dreaming the exact words of Jesus from the Christian Bible.

Words they had never read, words they did not know existed.

How was that possible? I started reading more.

I found websites with testimonies from Muslims all over the Middle East.

from Iran, from Iraq, from Egypt, from Syria, from Turkey, and from Saudi Arabia, all describing similar dreams and visions of Issa.

Some said he appeared to them during the times of crisis.

Some said he healed them.

Some said he warned them.

Some said he invited them to follow him.

And many of them after having these dreams had secretly converted to Christianity.

I read testimony after testimony and I felt my entire world view beginning to crack.

This was not isolated to to Saudi Arabia.

This was happening across the entire Muslim world.

And it was not new.

It had been happening for years, maybe decades, but no one talked about it publicly because the consequences were too dangerous.

I found reports from Christian organizations that worked with Muslim converts.

They documented that dreams and visions were the number one reason Muslims gave for why they converted to Christianity.

One researcher estimated that up to 80% of Muslim background believers in the Middle East had encountered Jesus in a supernatural way before coming to faith.

I found videos of former Muslims sharing their stories.

A man from Iran, Iran who had been a radical Shia Muslim.

A woman from Egypt who had worn the nikab her entire life.

a young man from Morocco who had memorized the entire Quran.

All of them said the same thing.

Jesus appeared to them in dreams, called them by name, spoke words of love, and invited them to follow him.

And when they searched for answers, when they found Bibles and read the Gospels, they realized that the words Jesus spoke in their dreams were the exact words recorded in the New Testament.

They said it was impossible for them to have known those words unless Jesus himself had spoken them.

This was not psychological.

This was not neurological.

This was supernatural.

I spent the next several weeks in a state of internal chaos.

During the day, I continued my research traveling to Mecca and Medina, interviewing more people, collecting more testimonies.

The pattern continued.

In Mecca, I spoke to a man who worked as a custodian at the Grand Mosque, one of the holiest sites in Islam.

He told me quietly away from others that he had dreamed of Issa while sleeping in the mosque itself.

He said, Isa told him, “You seek me in this place, but I am not here.

I am in the hearts of those who believe in me.

” The man was terrified.

He thought he was being tested by Allah.

He did not know what to do.

In Medina, I spoke to a young woman who had dreamed of Issa three nights in a row.

She said he showed her his hands and feet, and she saw wounds, and he said, “I was pierced for your transgressions.

I was crushed for your iniquities.

By my wounds, you are healed.

” She had no idea those were words from the Bible, from the book of Isaiah 53.

She thought she was going insane.

She begged me to tell her what it meant.

I did not know what to tell her.

I was just as confused as she was.

At night, back in my palace bedroom, I would lock my door and read everything I could find about Jesus.

I read the Injil, the New Testament in Arabic, available online through websites that the Saudi government tried to block, but that my VPN allowed me to access.

I started with the Gospel of Matthew, reading about the birth of Issa, born of the Virgin Miam, which Islam also taught.

So, that part was familiar.

But then I kept reading and found things that contradicted everything I had been taught.

I read that Issa claimed to be the son of God.

I read that he said, “I and the father are one.

” I read that he forgave sins which only God could do.

I read that he performed miracles, healing the sick, raising the dead, walking on water, calming storms.

I read that he said, “I am the bread of life.

Whoever comes to me will never go hungry and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.

I read that he said, “I am the light of the world.

Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life.

” These were not the words of a mere prophet.

These were the words of someone claiming to be God himself.

I read about his death.

In Islam, we were taught that Isa was not crucified, that Allah made it appear that way, but took him up to heaven before he could be killed.

But here in the Gospels, the crucifixion was described in painful detailed truth.

Isa was betrayed, arrested, beaten, mocked, whipped, and nailed to a cross.

He hung there for hours suffering, bleeding, dying.

And then he said, “Father, forgive them for they do not know what they are doing.

” He forgave the people who were killing him.

Why would he do that? Why would God allow his prophet or his son as Christians believed to suffer like that? It made no sense according to Islamic theology.

But then I read further and saw the explanation.

Issa died as a sacrifice.

He took the punishment for sin, the punishment that humanity deserved.

And he bore it in his own body.

He became the final sacrifice so that everyone who believed in him could be forgiven.

Not because they earned it, not because they were good enough, but because he paid the price.

I read John 3:16, the verse that seemed to appear everywhere in Christian teaching.

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only son that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.

God loved the world, not just Jews, not just Christians, the world.

That meant me, a Saudi woman, a Muslim, a member of a royal family that had built its identity on Wahhabi Islam.

And God loved me so much that he sent his son to die for me.

I sat there in the darkness of my room, staring at my laptop screen, tears streaming down my face.

This was completely different from everything I had been taught.

In Islam, salvation was based on works, on the scale of good deeds versus bad deeds on hoping that Allah would accept you on the day of judgment.

There was no certainty, no assurance, no peace, just endless striving and fear.

But here in the gospel, salvation was a gift.

It was offered freely to anyone who believed.

You did not have to earn it.

You could not earn it.

You just had to receive it.

But I was terrified.

Terrified of what it would mean if I believed this.

Terrified of the consequences.

In Saudi Arabia, converting from Islam to Christianity was apostasy, punishable by death.

The government executed apostates.

Families killed apostates in honor killings.

I would lose everything.

my family, my name, my country, my life.

I could not tell anyone what I was reading.

I could not ask anyone for help.

I was completely alone with these questions and they were tearing me apart.

I tried to push them away.

I tried to focus on my research, on the data, on the science.

But the testimonies kept coming.

And the more I heard, the more I realized that something far beyond science was happening.

People were encountering the living Jesus.

Not a historical figure, not a symbol, but a real present supernatural being who was reaching into the dreams of Muslims and calling them to himself.

And I could not ignore it any longer.

I could not explain it away.

I could not rationalize it.

The evidence was overwhelming.

And my heart, which had been empty for so long, was beginning to respond to the call I kept hearing in every testimony.

Come to me.

I love you.

Follow me.

But I was not ready to surrender.

Not yet.

I was still afraid, still fighting, still trying to hold on to the life I knew.

Even though I could feel it slipping away with every passing day.

For 3 months after I started reading the Injil, I lived in constant internal war.

During the day, I continued playing the role of Princess Amira, beautiful daughter, obedient Muslim woman, future wife of Prince Mansour.

I attended family gatherings, went to women’s charity events, sat through endless discussions about wedding preparations.

I prayed the five daily prayers with my mother and sister, fasted when required, recited Quran when expected, but it was all performance.

My heart was no longer in it.

Every time I bowed toward Mecca, I felt like a hypocrite.

Every time I recited the shahada, there is no god but Allah and Muhammad is his messenger.

I felt sick inside because I no longer believed it was true.

At night alone in my room, I would read the gospels over and over.

I read about Isa’s teachings, his miracles, his love for outcasts and sinners.

I read about his death and resurrection.

I read the letters of Paul explaining grace, explaining that we are saved by faith, not by works, so that no one can boast.

Everything I read contradicted Islam.

But everything I read also made sense of the emptiness I had felt my entire life.

I finished my dream research survey.

I had collected over 300 testimonies from across Saudi Arabia.

My data showed that approximately 35% of the people I interviewed reported having dreams that featured a figure they identified as Isa al-Masi.

The descriptions were remarkably consistent.

Glowing white clothing, Middle Eastern appearance, speaking Arabic, conveying messages of love and invitation.

From a scientific standpoint, this was statistically impossible to explain as random chance or cultural contamination.

There was no media source, no common experience, no external factor that could account for such widespread uniformity.

I wrote my research paper carefully, presenting the data objectively, avoiding any personal interpretation.

I titled it recurring archetypal figures in contemporary Saudi dream patterns a statistical analysis.

I submitted it to my professor at Burkham International University and he gave me top marks praising the thoroughess of my fieldwork.

He had no idea that the research had destroyed my faith in Islam and was leading me towards something I could not yet name.

But I could not escape the question that haunted me every single day.

If all these people were dreaming about Issa, if he was appearing to them supernaturally, calling them by name, speaking words from the Christian Bible that they had never read, then that meant he was real.

Not just a historical prophet, not just a figure in religious texts, but real, alive, active, present.

And if he was real, then everything he said about himself must be true.

That he was the son of God.

that he was the only way to the father.

That he died for the sins of the world and rose again.

That salvation came through him alone, not through Islam, not through good works, not through any other path.

I knew what that meant.

It meant I had to make a choice.

I could not stay neutral.

I could not keep researching forever.

I either had to reject what I was discovering and go back to Islam or I had to accept it and follow Isa knowing that doing so would cost me everything.

One night in late November, about 4 months after I had started my research, I reached my breaking point.

It was a Thursday night, the beginning of the weekend in Saudi Arabia.

My family had gone to a private resort outside Riyad for a few days, but I had stayed behind, claiming I needed to finish academic work.

I was alone in the palace except for a few household staff.

I went to my room, locked the door, and sat on the floor with my back against the bed.

I was exhausted.

Exhausted from pretending, exhausted from the fear, exhausted from carrying the weight of this secret.

I felt like I was being torn in two.

Part of me wanted to surrender to Issa, to believe, to follow him.

But another part of me was terrified of what that would mean.

I thought about my family.

I thought about my father’s face if he ever found out I had become a Christian.

I thought about my mother’s shame.

I thought about my brothers who worked in government positions that required absolute loyalty to Wahhabi Islam.

I thought about my engagement to Prince Mansour.

I thought about losing my name, my title, my country.

I thought about the possibility of being killed.

But I also thought about the testimonies I had collected.

Hundreds of people encountering Issa in dreams.

The same words, the same love, the same invitation.

I thought about the peace I saw in the testimonies of former Muslims who had converted to Christianity despite losing everything.

I thought about the words I had read in the Gospel of Matthew where Isa said, “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.

For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it.

” What good will it be for someone to gain the whole world yet forfeit their soul? I realized I was at that exact point.

I could save my life, keep my family, keep my wealth, keep my status, but lose my soul.

Or I could lose everything and find the one thing that mattered.

I did not know what to do.

So I did the only thing I could think of.

I had prayed.

But this time I did not pray to Allah.

I prayed to Isa.

I knelt on the floor of my bedroom and I whispered into the darkness, “Isa, if you are real, if you are truly the son of God, if you are truly the way to the father, then show me.

I need to know.

I cannot keep living like this.

I am afraid, but I am also desperate.

Please show me the truth.

” I stayed on my knees for a long time waiting, not knowing what to expect.

And then slowly I began to feel something.

It started as a warmth in my chest, a presence that I could not see but could definitely feel.

The air in the room seemed to change, to become heavier, thicker, charged with something I could not name.

I opened my eyes and looked around, and that is when I saw the light.

It started in the corner of my room near the window.

A soft glow that grew brighter and brighter until it filled the entire space.

I should have been terrified, but I was not.

I felt an overwhelming sense of peace, of safety, of being loved in a way I had never experienced in my entire life.

And then out of the light, a figure appeared.

A man.

He was dressed in white and his clothing seemed to glow with its own light.

His face was difficult to look at directly because of the brightness.

But I could see his features, Middle Eastern, kind eyes, a gentle expression.

He looked at me and I knew immediately who he was.

This was Issa.

This was Jesus.

And he was standing in my bedroom in the royal palace in Riyad.

I fell forward onto my face, trembling, unable to speak.

I heard his voice and it was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard.

It was not loud but it filled the room, filled my mind, filled my heart.

He spoke in Arabic and he said my name, Amira, just my name.

But the way he said it carried so much weight, so much love, so much recognition.

It was like he had known me my entire life.

like he had been waiting for this moment, like he had been calling me and I had finally answered.

I tried to speak but I could not form words.

He said, “Do not be afraid.

I have been waiting for you to call my name.

I love you, Amira.

I have always loved you.

I died for you.

I rose for you.

And now I want to show you something.

Come with me.

” I felt myself lifted up, not physically but spiritually, like my soul was being pulled out of my body.

I looked down and saw myself still kneeling on the floor of my room.

But I was also somehow standing next to Issa in the light.

He reached out his hand and I took it.

The moment I touched him, everything around me changed.

Suddenly, I was no longer in my room.

I was standing in a place that was beyond description.

The light was everywhere, but it did not hurt my eyes.

It was warm, alive, filled with colors I had never seen before.

I heard music, but it was not like any music on earth.

It was like the sound of a thousand voices singing in perfect harmony, worshiping, praising, rejoicing.

I looked around and saw what I can only describe as heaven.

There were beings of light, angels, I thought, moving and singing.

There were people, countless people from every nation, every language, every time in history, all dressed in white, all radiant, all filled with joy.

And in the center of it all was a throne, massive, brilliant, surrounded by light so bright I could barely look at it.

I knew without being told that God the Father was there and the glory radiating from that throne was so overwhelming that I fell to my knees again.

Issa stood beside me and he said, “This is the kingdom of heaven.

This is where everyone who believes in me will spend eternity.

Look, Amira, see what I have prepared for you.

” He showed me things I cannot fully put into words.

I saw beauty beyond imagination.

I saw peace that had no end.

I saw love that was perfect, pure, unconditional.

I saw people I recognized from history, prophets, apostles, martyrs, ordinary believers who had died trusting in Issa.

And I saw something that made me weep.

I saw a book enormous glowing.

And Issa opened it.

He said, “This is the book of life.

Everyone whose name is written here will enter this place.

He turned the pages and I saw names, thousands and thousands of names written in light.

And then he stopped on a page and pointed there written in script that glowed with golden light.

I saw my own name, Amira Bint Abdullah Al-Saud.

I looked at him in shock and he smiled.

He said, “I wrote your name here before the foundation of the world.

I knew you.

I chose you.

I have been calling you all your life.

And now you have answered.

” I could not stop crying.

The joy, the relief, the overwhelming sense of being fully known and fully loved.

It was too much.

I wanted to stay there forever.

But Issa said, “There is something else you need to see.

” The scene changed instantly.

The light disappeared.

The music stopped.

I was no longer in heaven.

I was standing in a place of absolute darkness.

And the moment I arrived, I felt terror like I had never known.

The air was thick, suffocating, hot.

I heard screaming, wailing, the sound of people in unbearable agony.

I could smell sulfur, burning, decay.

I tried to cover my ears, but the sounds would not stop.

I looked around and saw flames in the distance, not normal fire, but something darker, more terrible.

And I saw people, countless people, tormented, suffering, crying out for mercy that would never come.

I wanted to run to escape, but I could not move.

Issa stood beside me, and his face was filled with sorrow.

He said, “This is hell, Amira.

This is the place of eternal separation from God.

This is where everyone who rejects me will go.

Not because I want them here, but because they chose to reject the only way of salvation.

He showed me faces in the flames and I recognized some of them.

I saw people I knew, people who had died as Muslims, people who had been devout, who had prayed, who had fasted, who had done good works.

I saw imams, scholars, wealthy people, poor people.

All of them suffering the same fate.

I cried out, “Why are they here? They were good people.

They served God.

” Issa looked at me with infinite sadness and said, “They served a God they created in their own minds.

They rejected me.

They rejected the truth.

I stood at the door and knocked, but they would not open.

I called them, but they would not answer.

And now it is too late.

I saw one woman.

I recognized a distant relative who had died 2 years ago.

She had been known for her piety, her charity, her devotion to Islam.

But now she was here in this place of torment crying out, “I did everything right.

Why am I here?” And I heard a voice, not Isa’s, but something darker, mocking her.

You trusted in your works.

You rejected the son.

There is no salvation apart from him.

I could not bear it anymore.

I fell to the ground and cried out, “Please take me out of here.

I cannot watch this.

” Issa reached down and lifted me up.

And immediately we were back in my room.

I was kneeling on the floor, gasping for breath, my face wet with tears.

Issa stood before me in the light, and he said, “I showed you heaven so you would know what awaits you if you follow me.

I showed you hell so you would know what awaits those who reject me.

Now you must choose Amir.

Will you follow me? Will you give me your life, all of it, no matter the cost.

I did not hesitate.

I had seen the truth.

I had seen eternity.

I had seen where I was headed if I stayed on the path I was on.

And I had seen the glory that awaited if I chose Isa.

I looked up at him through my tears and said, “Yes, yes, I will follow you.

I believe you are the son of God.

I believe you died for me.

I believe you rose again.

Forgive me for all my sins.

Forgive me for rejecting you for so long.

I give you my life.

All of it.

I am yours.

Save me.

” The moment those words left my mouth, I felt something break inside me.

Like chains that had been wrapped around my soul suddenly snapped and fell away.

The weight I had carried my entire life, the guilt, the fear, the emptiness, all of it lifted.

And in its place came a piece so deep, so complete that I could hardly breathe.

Issa knelt down in front of me and he placed his hand on my head.

He said, “You are forgiven, Amira.

You are my daughter.

You are washed clean by my blood.

You are born again.

The old life is gone.

The new life has begun.

I will never leave you.

I will never forsake you.

Trust me.

Follow me.

And I will lead you into the life I created you for.

” Then he stood.

And the light began to fade.

I wanted to call out to ask him to stay, but I knew he was not leaving me.

He was just returning to the realm I could not see.

But I could still feel his presence.

I could still feel his love surrounding me like a blanket.

I stayed on the floor of my room for hours, weeping, praying, thanking him, worshiping him.

I did not sleep that night.

I just sat there in the presence of God, overwhelmed by what had happened, by what I had seen, by the transformation I had experienced.

When the sun rose the next morning, I looked at myself in the mirror and I saw the same face, the same body, the same princess in the same palace.

But inside, everything was different.

I was not the same person who had gone to bed the night before.

I had died and I had been raised to new life in Issa al- Masi, Jesus Christ, the son of God, my savior, my lord.

I had been born again.

I belonged to him now and I knew that my life would never be the same.

I also knew that the hardest part was just beginning.

I was now a follower of Jesus living in the royal palace of one of the most anti-Christian nations on earth.

I could not tell anyone.

I could not practice my faith openly.

I could not go to church, could not be baptized publicly, could not even own a Bible without risking arrest.

I was a secret believer hidden in plain sight.

And I had no idea how I was going to survive.

But I remembered the words Isa had spoken to me.

I will never leave you.

I will never forsake you.

Trust me.

So I decided to trust him.

and I waited to see what he would do next.

The morning after Issa appeared to me, I woke up feeling like I had been completely remade.

Everything looked the same.

My room was unchanged.

The palace grounds outside my window were as beautiful as ever.

The call to prayer echoed from the nearby mosque just like it did every morning.

But I was different.

Fundamentally, eternally different.

I had encountered the living God.

I had seen heaven and hell.

I had given my life to Jesus Christ.

And now I had to figure out how to live as a Christian in a country where Christianity was illegal.

In a family where conversion would be seen as the ultimate betrayal.

In a culture where apostasy from Islam was punishable by death.

I got out of bed and for the first time in my life I did not perform wudoo to prepare for fajar prayer.

Instead, I knelt beside my bed and I prayed to Jesus.

I prayed in Arabic, in my own words, not reciting memorized verses, but talking to him like he was right there in the room with me because I knew he was.

I thanked him for saving me.

I asked him to guide me, to protect me, to show me what to do next.

and I felt his peace, that same overwhelming peace from the night before, settle over me like a warm covering.

My family returned from their trip that afternoon.

My mother immediately noticed something different about me.

She said I looked more relaxed, that my face seemed brighter.

She asked if I was feeling well, if something good had happened while they were gone.

I smiled and told her I had finished my research project and felt relieved.

She seemed satisfied with that answer.

My father barely acknowledged me which was normal.

My brothers were busy with their own lives.

My sister Nor chatted about the resort and the people they had met.

Everything continued as usual on the surface.

But I was living a completely double life now.

During the day, I played the role of Princess Amira.

I wore my Abaya and Nikab.

I attended family meals.

I went to women’s social events.

I sat through discussions about my upcoming wedding to Prince Mansour, which was now less than 18 months away.

I smiled.

I nodded.

I participated.

But inside, my heart was somewhere else entirely.

My heart was with Jesus.

And every moment I had to pretend to be a Muslim felt like a knife twisting in my chest.

I knew I could not keep living this way indefinitely.

I needed help.

I needed guidance.

I needed other believers.

But how could I find them in Saudi Arabia? The country had no churches.

Public Christian worship was illegal.

Foreigners, mostly Western expatriots and workers from the Philippines and other countries, were allowed to practice Christianity privately in their homes, but Saudis were absolutely forbidden from converting.

The religious police, the Mutawin monitored everything.

Informants were everywhere.

If I was discovered, I would not just be arrested.

I would be executed, and my family would likely be the ones to carry out the sentence to protect their honor.

I remembered reading testimonies online about underground believers in Saudi Arabia.

I knew they existed.

My own research had confirmed it, but how did I find them without exposing myself? I spent the next several days praying desperately for Jesus to connect me with other believers.

And then I remembered something.

During my survey, I had interviewed several people who described dreams of Isa.

I had collected their contact information as part of my research data.

What if some of them had responded to those dreams the same way I had? What if they had become believers, too? I went through my research notes carefully looking for people whose testimonies seemed the most sincere, the most spiritually hungry.

I found one woman, a young woman in her late 20s named Ila who lived in Riyad.

She had described a dream where Issa appeared to her and said, “I am the truth you have been searching for.

Seek me and you will find me.

” She had given me her phone number saying that if I ever wanted to follow up on her testimony, I could contact her.

I decided to take the risk.

I used an encrypted messaging app, created an account under a fake name, and sent her a careful message.

I wrote, “Salam, Ila, this is the researcher who interviewed you several months ago about your dreams.

I have been thinking about what you shared with me.

I would like to talk to you again if you are willing.

Is there a safe time and place we could meet? I sent the message and waited anxiously.

2 days later, she responded.

She said, “Yes, I remember you.

I have been hoping you would contact me.

There is much I need to tell you.

Can we meet at the women’s section of the Riyad Park Mall tomorrow at 3 p.

m.

” I agreed.

The next day, I told my family I was going shopping.

My driver took me to the mall and I told him to wait in the parking area.

I went inside, found the women’s section and looked for Ila.

She was sitting at a small cafe wearing a simple black abaya and nikab like most Saudi women.

I approached her and she stood when she saw me.

We greeted each other formally then sat down at a corner table away from others.

For a few minutes, we made small talk.

Both of us cautious, testing the waters.

Then Ila leaned forward and said quietly, “Sister, why did you really contact me?” I took a deep breath and decided to trust her.

I said, “Because I had the same dream you did.

” Issa appeared to me and I gave my life to him.

Her eyes widened and I saw tears form.

She reached across the table and grabbed my hands.

She whispered, “I did too.

I am a follower of Isa.

I have been for 6 months.

I thought I was the only one in Riyad.

Praise God you found me.

” I started crying too, right there in the mall cafe, overwhelmed with relief and gratitude.

I was not alone.

There were others.

Jesus had answered my prayer.

Ila told me her story.

She had been a devout Muslim married to a man who worked in the Ministry of Religious Affairs.

She had three children.

Her life was comfortable but empty.

Then she started having dreams of Issa.

At first she ignored them thinking they were from Shayan.

But the dreams continued and the love she felt in them was so overwhelming that she could not deny it was from God.

She started searching online, found testimonies from other Muslims who had converted, read the Bible in secret, and eventually gave her life to Jesus.

She said she had been living as a hidden believer ever since, praying in secret, reading the Bible on her phone, desperate for fellowship, but terrified of being discovered.

Then she told me something that changed everything.

She said, “There are others like us.

There is a network, a church hidden across Saudi Arabia.

Small groups of believers meeting in secret.

I am part of one here in Riyad.

We meet once a week in different locations.

If you want, I can connect you with them.

I could barely believe what I was hearing.

An underground church right here in Riyad.

I said, “Yes, please.

I need this.

I need to be with other believers.

” Ila gave me instructions.

She said the group met every Friday afternoon, which was ironic because Friday is the Muslim hol, the day when everyone goes to the mosque for communal prayers.

She said that made it the perfect cover.

While families were at the mosque, believers would slip away to secret locations, usually private homes or rented apartments, always changing locations to avoid detection.

She told me the address for the next meeting, told me to come alone, to tell no one, and to watch carefully to make sure I was not being followed.

She said, “If you see anything suspicious, do not come.

Just walk away.

Our safety depends on secrecy.

” I thanked her.

We prayed together quietly right there in the cafe.

And then we parted ways.

That Friday, I told my family I was not feeling well and could not attend the mosque.

My mother was concerned, but I insisted I just needed to rest.

Once everyone left for Friday prayers, I changed into a plain abaya, covered my face completely with my nikab and took a taxi to the address Leila had given me.

It was a residential area in eastern Riyad, modest apartment buildings, nothing that would attract attention.

I knocked on the door in the pattern Ila had instructed.

Three knocks, pause, two more.

The door opened and a woman pulled me inside quickly and locked the door behind me.

Inside the small apartment, there were 12 people, men and women, young and old, all Saudis, all former Muslims, all followers of Jesus.

Ila was there and she introduced me simply as a new sister.

No one asked my real name.

No one asked about my background.

In the underground church, anonymity was protection.

We sat in a circle on the floor and one of the men, an older man in his 50s named Ibrahim, led the meeting.

He opened with prayer, thanking Jesus for bringing us together, asking for protection, asking for boldness and faithfulness.

Then we sang.

We could not sing loudly because neighbors might hear.

So we sang in whispers, worship songs in Arabic praising Issa, declaring his lordship, thanking him for his sacrifice.

It was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard.

For the first time in my life, I was worshiping Jesus openly, surrounded by others who loved him, and I felt completely free.

After worship, Ibraim taught from the Bible.

He had a physical copy, a small Arabic New Testament that he kept hidden in a hollowedout Quran, a brilliant and dangerous disguise.

He opened to the book of Romans chapter 8 and read, “Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.

” Because through Christ Jesus, the law of the spirit who gives life has set you free from the law of sin and death.

He explained what this meant.

He said that in Islam we lived under constant fear of condemnation.

Always wondering if we had done enough, if Allah would accept us, if our good deeds outweighed our bad.

But in Christ, there was no condemnation.

We were declared righteous not because of what we did, but because of what Jesus did.

We were set free from the law, from the endless striving, from the fear.

We were free to live in the love of God, not as slaves but as sons and daughters.

He said this is grace.

This is the gospel and this is what will sustain you when persecution comes because it will come.

All of us in this room are living on borrowed time.

Any day any one of us could be discovered.

But we do not fear death because we know that to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord.

We have already won.

Jesus has already secured our eternity.

So we live boldly.

We love deeply and we trust completely.

His words pierced my heart.

I realized that following Jesus in Saudi Arabia was not just a spiritual decision.

It was a life or death decision.

But I also realized that I had already made my choice.

I would rather die as a follower of Jesus than live as a Muslim princess in a golden cage.

After the teaching, we shared communion.

Ibrahim had brought bread and grape juice and we passed it around the circle.

He said the words Jesus spoke at the last supper.

This is my body broken for you.

This is my blood shed for you.

Do this in remembrance of me.

I took the bread and the cup and I wept.

I was partaking in the body and blood of Christ for the first time in a secret room in Riyad, surrounded by people who had risked everything to follow him.

This was the church, not a building, not an institution, just believers gathered in Jesus’ name, and he was there with us.

After communion, people shared testimonies and prayer requests.

One woman asked for prayer because her husband had started asking questions about why she seemed different.

Another man shared that he had led his sister to Christ and she was now seeking baptism.

A younger man said he was being pressured by his family to join a militant group and he needed wisdom on how to refuse without exposing his faith.

We prayed for each person and I felt the power of the Holy Spirit moving among us.

This was what the early church must have been like.

Meeting in secret, under threat, but filled with love and faith and hope.

At the end of the meeting, Ibraim asked if anyone needed baptism.

He explained that baptism was dangerous in Saudi Arabia because it required water, witnesses, and a level of exposure that could lead to discovery.

But he also said it was important, a public or in our case semi-public declaration of faith, a step of obedience.

I raised my hand.

I said, “I want to be baptized.

” Ibrahim smiled and said, “Then we will do it today.

” He led us to the bathroom which had a large bathtub.

He filled it with water while the others gathered around.

I removed my abaya and nikab standing in a simple dress and I stepped into the water.

Ibrahim placed one hand on my back and raised the other toward heaven.

He said, “Amira, do you believe that Jesus Christ is the son of God that he died for your sins and rose again on the third day?” I said, “Yes, I believe.

” He said, “Do you renounce your old life, your old faith, and commit yourself to follow Jesus no matter the cost?” I said, “Yes, I renounce Islam and I commit my life to Jesus Christ.

” He said, “Then I baptize you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.

” He gently lowered me backward into the water until I was completely submerged.

For a moment I was under the surface, surrounded by water.

And I thought about my old life, about the princess who had lived in fear and emptiness.

Then Ibrahim lifted me up and I gasped for air, water streaming down my face.

And I heard the others quietly clapping and whispering, “Allahu Akbar,” but meaning it differently now.

God is great.

Praising Jesus, not Allah.

I stood there dripping, shivering, but feeling more alive than I had ever felt.

I was baptized.

I was a follower of Jesus.

I belonged to him.

And nothing, not my family, not the Saudi government, not the threat of death, could change that.

Over the next several months, I became a regular member of the underground church.

I attended every meeting I could, always carefully, always watching to make sure I was not followed.

I grew in my faith.

Ibraim and others discipled me, teaching me the Bible, teaching me how to pray, teaching me how to live as a secret believer in a hostile environment.

I learned that there were an estimated 50,000 to 100,000 Saudi Christians, all hidden, all meeting in small groups like ours, all risking everything.

I learned that the Saudi government knew about us but could not stop us because we operated in complete secrecy.

I learned that Jesus was appearing to Saudis in dreams at an unprecedented rate.

That the underground church was growing faster than ever and that the government was terrified because they could not control what God was doing supernaturally.

But I also knew I could not stay in Saudi Arabia forever.

My wedding to Prince Mansour was approaching.

I was expected to marry him, to fulfill my duty to the family, to produce heirs, to live as a royal wife.

But I could not do it.

I could not marry a man I did not love, a man who did not know Jesus, a man who would expect me to raise our children as Muslims.

I prayed desperately for God to make a way of escape.

And slowly, a plan began to form.

I remembered that Burkham International University where I had completed my onology research had invited me to present my findings at an international conference on sleep and dream research in London.

The conference was in 4 months.

I had mentioned it to my father and to my surprise he had agreed to let me attend.

Seeing it as an honor for the family that his daughter was being recognized academically.

He said I would travel with a male guardian, one of my cousins, and I would return immediately after the presentation.

But I knew this was my chance.

This was the door God was opening.

I began planning my escape.

I contacted Christian organizations that helped persecuted believers flee Muslim countries.

I arranged for people to meet me in London to help me claim asylum to protect me once I left my cousin’s supervision.

I knew that once I did this, there would be no going back.

I would lose my family forever.

I would be declared an apostate.

I would be erased from the also family.

But I also knew that Jesus was worth it.

He was worth everything.

And I was ready to lose it all to follow him.

The four months leading up to the London conference were the most agonizing of my life.

Every day felt like walking on the edge of a knife.

I had to continue living as Princess Amira, attending family gatherings, smiling through wedding preparations, pretending that everything was normal.

My mother took me shopping for my wedding dress, a custom design from a famous Lebanese designer that cost more than most Saudis earn in a year.

I stood there in the fitting room looking at myself in the mirror draped in white silk and lace and I felt like I was staring at a corpse.

This dress would never be worn.

This wedding would never happen.

I was planning to run, to escape, to disappear.

But I could not tell anyone.

Not even the believers in my underground church knew the full extent of my plan.

I only told Ibraim, the elder who had baptized me.

and I asked him to pray for me.

He held my hands, looked into my eyes and said, “Amira, you are doing the right thing.

God has opened this door.

Walk through it.

Do not look back.

We will continue to pray for you, and one day when it is safe, you will tell the world what Jesus has done in Saudi Arabia.

” I spent those months preparing carefully.

I gathered documents, my passport, my university certificates, my research papers.

I transferred money quietly from my personal accounts to an international account that my family could not access.

It was not much by royal standards, but it would be enough to survive for a few months while I applied for asylum.

I also memorized contact information for the Christian organizations that would meet me in London.

I could not write anything down.

I could not risk my family finding evidence of my plan.

Everything had to be in my head.

Every detail, every step.

I also spent as much time as I could with the underground church.

I knew that once I left Saudi Arabia, I might never see these brothers and sisters again.

They had become my true family.

The people who knew the real me, the me that belonged to Jesus.

We prayed together, studied scripture together, and encouraged one another.

One of the women in the group, a older woman named Fatima, who had been a believer for over 10 years, gave me a gift the week before I was scheduled to leave.

She handed me a small flash drive and said, “This contains the entire Bible in Arabic, audio, and text along with disciplehip materials, worship songs, and testimonies.

Keep it hidden.

When you get to where you are going, use it to grow and remember us.

The night before my flight to London, I barely slept.

I lay in my bed in the palace, looking around my room, knowing it was the last time I would ever be there.

I thought about my childhood, about growing up in this compound, about the years of emptiness and searching.

I thought about my mother who had controlled every aspect of my life but had never really known me.

I thought about my father distant and cold who saw me as a political asset rather than a daughter.

I thought about my brothers, my sister-in-law, my extended family.

I would never see them again.

They would hate me.

They would curse my name.

They would say I had brought shame on the family.

And part of me grieved that loss.

But another part of me, the part that had been born again, knew that I was gaining far more than I was losing.

I was gaining freedom.

I was gaining truth.

I was gaining eternal life with Jesus.

And that was worth every sacrifice.

I prayed through the night asking Jesus for courage, for strength, for his presence to go with me.

And I felt his peace, that deep, unshakable peace that I had come to rely on, settle over me once again.

The next morning, my family gathered to see me off.

My father reminded me to represent the family well, to deliver my presentation professionally and to return home immediately afterward.

My mother fussed over my abaya, making sure it was perfect, reminding me to stay modest and respectful in front of Westerners.

My sister Nor hugged me and whispered, “I am so proud of you, Amira.

You are doing something important.

” I almost broke down when she said that.

If only she knew what I was actually about to do.

My cousin Fahad, a serious man in his 30s who worked in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, was assigned to be my male guardian for the trip.

He was responsible for making sure I stayed safe, stayed modest, and stayed on schedule.

He had no idea that I was planning to disappear the moment I had the chance.

We boarded the royal family’s private jet and as the plane took off from King Khaled International Airport in Riyad, I looked out the window at the city below at the kingdom I was leaving behind.

And I whispered a prayer, “Jesus, I am trusting you.

I am in your hands.

Lead me.

Protect me.

Do not let me fail.

” We arrived in London after a 7-hour flight.

It was early March, cold and rainy, completely different from the dry heat of Riyad.

Fahad had arranged for us to stay at a luxury hotel near the conference venue.

He checked us into separate rooms, reminded me that I was not to leave the hotel without him, and said he would escort me to the conference the next morning.

I agreed, went to my room, locked the door, and immediately contacted the people who were waiting to help me.

I sent an encrypted message to the number I had memorized.

I am in London.

I am ready.

What do I do? The response came within minutes.

Tomorrow during your conference presentation, go to the restroom during the break.

There will be a woman waiting for you.

She will be wearing a blue scarf.

Follow her.

She will take you to safety.

Bring nothing except your passport and any money you have.

Leave your phone.

They can track it.

Trust us, God is with you.

I read the message three times, then deleted it.

This was it.

Tomorrow, my life would change forever.

The next morning, Fad escorted me to the International Conference on Sleep and Dream Research being held at a large hotel conference center in central London.

There were hundreds of attendees, researchers, psychologists, neuroscientists from all over the world.

I was scheduled to present my research on dream patterns in Saudi Arabia during the afternoon session.

Fahad sat in the back of the conference hall watching me, making sure I did not interact inappropriately with men or say anything that would embarrass the family.

I went through my presentation mechanically, showing slides, presenting data, discussing statistical analysis.

People asked questions.

I I answered them professionally.

Inside my heart was pounding so hard I thought everyone could hear it.

After my presentation, there was a scheduled break.

I told Fad I needed to use the restroom.

He nodded and said he would wait outside the women’s restroom area.

I walked down the hallway, my hand shaking, praying under my breath.

I entered the restroom and there she was, a woman in her 40s wearing a blue scarf standing by the sinks.

She looked at me and said quietly in Arabic, “Amira.

” I nodded.

She said, “Come with me quickly.

” She led me out a back exit of the restroom into a service hallway that hotel staff used.

We walked quickly, not running, but moving with purpose.

She brought me to a side door that opened into a parking area.

A car was waiting, engine running.

She opened the door.

I got in and the car pulled away.

Immediately, I looked back at the hotel, knowing that Fad was still standing outside the restroom, waiting for me, having no idea that I was already gone.

The woman in the blue scarf sat next to me in the back seat.

She said, “My name is Sister Catherine.

I work with a ministry that helps persecuted Christians escape dangerous situations.

You are safe now.

We are taking you to a safe house.

You will stay there while we help you apply for asylum in the United Kingdom.

Do you have your passport? I pulled it out of the hidden pocket inside my abaya and handed it to her.

She smiled and said, “Good.

Everything is going to be okay.

Jesus has made a way for you.

” I started crying, overwhelmed with relief, fear, gratitude, and grief all at once.

I had done it.

I had escaped.

I was free.

But I also knew what I had just set in motion.

Within hours, Fad would realize I was missing.

He would call my father.

The royal family would activate their intelligence networks.

The Saudi government would demand that the UK find me and return me.

My face would be all over the news, and my family would declare me dead to them.

We arrived at a safe house in a quiet neighborhood outside London.

It was a small, modest home, nothing like the palace I had grown up in, but it felt like paradise.

Sister Katherine introduced me to two other women who were staying there.

Both of them also refugees from Muslim countries, one from Pakistan and one from Iran, both fleeing persecution for converting to Christianity.

We shared our stories, cried together, prayed together.

That night, I slept in a small bedroom with a single bed, a simple blanket, and a window that looked out onto a garden.

It was the first night of my life that I went to bed without fear.

I was no longer in Saudi Arabia.

I was no longer under my family’s control.

I was no longer living a double life.

I was free.

Free to follow Jesus openly, free to worship, free to live.

The next morning, Sister Catherine helped me begin the asylum application process.

I met with lawyers who specialized in religious persecution cases.

I gave my testimony, explained that I had converted from Islam to Christianity, that I had been living as a secret believer in Saudi Arabia and that returning to my country would mean certain death.

I provided evidence, my research, testimonies I had collected, documentation of Saudi Arabia’s laws against apostasy.

The lawyer said my case was strong, that the UK granted asylum to people fleeing religious persecution and that I would likely be approved within a few months.

But the process was not easy.

Within 24 hours of my disappearance, the story broke.

Saudi media reported that Princess Amir bint Abdullah al- Sahoud had gone missing during a trip to London.

My family issued a statement saying I had been kidnapped, that I was mentally unstable, that I was being held against my will by enemies of the kingdom.

The Saudi government demanded that British authorities locate me and return me immediately.

My father gave interviews saying I was a victim of western manipulation, that I had been brainwashed, that the family wanted me back.

But I knew the truth.

They did not want me back to help me.

They wanted me back to silence me, to punish me, to erase the shame I had brought on the family.

I released my own statement through the lawyers, a video message recorded in the safe house.

I sat in front of a camera, my face uncovered for the first time in a public setting, and I spoke directly to the world.

I said, “My name is Amira Bint Abdullah Al- Sud.

I am a member of the Saudi royal family.

I was not kidnapped.

I left Saudi Arabia willingly because I converted to Christianity and I knew that if I stayed, I would be killed.

I am seeking asylum in the United Kingdom and I am asking the British government to protect me.

I do not want to return to Saudi Arabia.

I want to live freely as a follower of Jesus Christ.

The video went viral within hours.

News outlets across the world picked it up.

Some praised me for my courage.

Others accused me of betraying my country and my religion.

Saudi officials condemned me publicly, calling me a traitor and an apostate.

Religious leaders issued fatwas declaring that I deserved death according to Islamic law.

My family released another statement, this time disowning me completely.

They said I was no longer a member of the Alsaud family, that my name had been erased from all records, that I was dead to them.

My mother gave a tearful interview saying she had lost her daughter to the devil.

My father refused to speak about me at all.

It was exactly what I had expected, but it still hurt.

I grieved the loss of my family.

I grieved the loss of my name, my identity, my country.

But I did not regret my decision.

I had chosen Jesus, and he was worth every loss.

3 months later, my asylum application was approved.

The UK government granted me refugee status based on credible fear of persecution for religious conversion.

I was given legal residency, a new identity for security purposes and protection from extradition.

I was free, truly free.

And for the first time in my life, I could worship Jesus openly without fear.

I started attending a church in London, a large international church with believers from all over the world.

The first Sunday I walked into that church, I wept through the entire service.

I heard people singing worship songs at full volume, hands raised, voices loud, praising Jesus without fear.

I saw the cross displayed openly.

I saw Bibles everywhere.

I saw men and women worshiping together.

I saw children learning about Jesus in Sunday school.

It was everything I had dreamed of but never thought I would experience.

After the service, the pastor prayed for me and the congregation surrounded me, welcoming me, encouraging me, telling me that I was home.

And I realized that I was.

This was my family now.

Not the family I was born into, but the family I was born again into, the family of God.

Over the following months, I began to heal.

I met regularly with a counselor who helped me process the trauma of leaving my family and my country.

I attended Bible studies, grew deeper in my faith, and connected with other Arab Christian refugees who understood what I had been through.

I also connected with ministries that served the persecuted church in the Middle East.

I learned that my story was not unique.

Thousands of Saudis had fled the kingdom to follow Jesus.

Tens of thousands more were still there, hidden, waiting, praying for the day they could be free.

And I knew that God had a plan for me.

He had not brought me out of Saudi Arabia just to live quietly in safety.

He had brought me out so I could be a voice for those who had no voice.

6 months after my asylum was granted, I was contacted by a Christian media organization that specialized in documenting testimonies of former Muslims who had converted to Christianity.

They had seen my initial video statement and wanted to do a full interview, a detailed account of my journey from Saudi princess to follower of Jesus.

They said my story had the potential to reach millions of people across the Arab world, to encourage secret believers, to challenge Muslims who were searching for truth and to expose what was really happening in Saudi Arabia, the supernatural move of God that the government was desperately trying to hide.

I prayed about it for several weeks.

I knew that going public with more details would increase the danger.

The Saudi government had already declared me an apostate.

Religious extremists had already issued death threats.

Going on camera and telling my full story would make me an even bigger target.

But I also knew that fear could not be my guide.

Jesus had not saved me so I could hide in safety.

He had saved me so I could testify to his power.

so I could tell the world what he was doing in one of the most closed oppressive nations on earth.

I agreed to the interview.

We recorded it over two days in a studio in London.

I sat in front of the camera, my face fully visible.

No nikab, no abaya, just me, a mirror, a follower of me, Jesus.

And I told my story from the beginning.

I told them about growing up in the royal family, about the wealth and the privilege that came with a prison of control and emptiness.

I told them about studying onology at Burkham International University, about the dream research survey I conducted across Saudi Arabia.

I told them about discovering that hundreds of Saudis were having the same dream, encountering a man in white who identified himself as Issa al- Masi, speaking words directly from the Bible that they had never read.

I told them how that discovery shook my scientific understanding and led me to research Jesus for myself.

I told them about reading the Injil in secret, about the internal war I fought for months, about the night I prayed and asked Jesus to reveal himself to me.

And then I told them about the encounter.

I described in vivid detail how Jesus appeared in my bedroom in the royal palace in Riyad, how he spoke my name, how he took me in the spirit to see both heaven and hell.

I described what heaven looked like, the glory, the worship, the throne of God, the book of life with my name written in it.

I described the overwhelming love and peace, the beauty beyond words, the promise that everyone who believes in Jesus will spend eternity there.

And then I described hell.

I did not hold back.

I described the darkness, the screaming, the torment, the flames.

I described seeing people I knew, devout Muslims who had died thinking they were going to paradise, but who were suffering in eternal separation from God because they had rejected Jesus.

I described how Jesus showed me that hell was not a place God sends people to punish them, but a place people choose by rejecting the only way of salvation.

I said, “Jesus told me, I died so no one has to go here, but they must choose me.

” And that is the truth that changed my life.

Salvation is not about being good enough.

It is not about doing enough religious works.

It is about accepting the gift that Jesus offers forgiveness and eternal life through his death and resurrection.

I saw the camera crew wiping tears from their eyes.

As I spoke, the interviewer, a kind man named David, who had formerly been a Muslim himself, asked me, “Amira, what happened after that encounter?” I told him about my surrender, about giving my life to Jesus that night, about the transformation I experienced, about being born again.

I told him about finding the underground church in Riyad, about being baptized in a bathtub in a secret location, about living a double life for months.

I told him about my escape from Saudi Arabia during the London conference, about claiming asylum, about being disowned by my family.

And then I told him about my research, the part of my story that I knew would be the most explosive.

I said during my survey, I interviewed over 300 Saudis.

More than 100 of them, over one-third reported having dreams or visions of Jesus.

These were not Christians.

These were Muslims.

ordinary Saudis from all walks of life who had never read the Bible, who had never been evangelized by missionaries who had no natural explanation for why they were encountering Jesus supernaturally.

And based on my research and on reports from underground church networks, I estimate that there are between 50,000 and 100,000 secret Christians in Saudi Arabia right now.

That number is growing every single day because Jesus is appearing to people in dreams at an unprecedented rate.

The Saudi government knows this.

They are terrified.

They are cracking down, increasing surveillance, arresting people, executing apostates, but they cannot stop what God is doing.

You cannot arrest a dream.

You cannot kill a vision.

Jesus is moving supernaturally and the kingdom of darkness is losing ground.

The interviewer asked me to share specific testimonies from my research.

So, I did.

I told him about the school teacher in Riyad who dreamed of Jesus three times and heard him say, “I am the way, the truth, and the life.

” I told him about the university student who encountered Jesus and felt a love so overwhelming he woke up sobbing.

I told him about the man who worked as a custodian at the Grand Mosque in Mecca, one of the holiest sites in Islam, who dreamed of Jesus while sleeping inside the mosque itself.

I told him about the woman in the medina who saw Jesus showing her the wounds in his hands and feet.

Quoting Isaiah 53 without ever having read it.

I said these are not isolated incidents.

This is a pattern.

This is a movement and it is happening not just in Saudi Arabia but across the entire Muslim world.

Reports from Iran, Iraq, Egypt, Syria, Turkey, Afghanistan, Pakistan, all of them documenting the same phenomenon.

Muslims are encountering Jesus in dreams and visions.

And they are coming to faith by the thousands, by the tens of thousands, maybe by the millions.

This is the greatest spiritual awakening in the history of Islam, and most of the world has no idea it is happening.

The interviewer then asked me the question I had been waiting for.

He said, “Amira, why do you think Jesus is using dreams so much in the Muslim world?” I smiled and said, “There are two reasons.

First, because dreams are culturally significant in Islam.

The Quran talks about prophetic dreams.

Muslims believe that dreams can be messages from God.

So when Jesus appears in a dream, Muslims take it seriously.

They do not dismiss it as imagination.

They search for meaning.

God is using a framework that the culture already respects and understands.

He is speaking their language.

Second, because human methods of evangelism have been completely shut down in countries like Saudi Arabia.

There are no churches.

There are no missionaries.

Preaching the gospel publicly is illegal.

Owning a Bible can get you arrested.

Converting from Islam can get you executed.

So God himself is bypassing all the human barriers.

He is going directly into people’s bedrooms while they sleep, appearing to them, speaking to them, calling them by name and revealing himself in ways that no government can stop.

This is spiritual warfare and God is winning.

I also shared the theological foundation for why dreams matter.

I referenced the book of Joel 2:28 where God says, “I will pour out my spirit on all people.

Your sons and daughters will prophesy.

Your old men will dream dreams.

Your young men will see visions.

” I said, “This is a last day’s prophecy.

” And it is being fulfilled right now in the Muslim world.

God is pouring out his spirit.

He is revealing Jesus to people who would never hear the gospel any other way.

and the result is a harvest of souls that is unlike anything we have seen in history.

The interview was edited and released as a fulllength video testimony titled From Saudi Princess to follower of Jesus, the testimony of Amira al-Saud.

It was uploaded to YouTube and other video platforms and within 48 hours it had been viewed over 2 million times.

Within a week over 10 million, within a month over 30 million views.

It went viral across the Arab world, across the Middle East, across Muslim majority countries, and across the global Christian community.

The response was massive and polarized.

Saudi state media attacked me, calling me a liar, a traitor, a tool of Western propaganda.

Religious scholars issued statements condemning me and calling for my death.

Extremist groups put a bounty on my head.

My family released another statement saying I was mentally ill and that nothing I said should be believed.

But alongside the hatred and threats, there was another response.

A response that overwhelmed me with joy and gratitude.

I started receiving thousands of messages from Saudis, from Arabs, from Muslims all over the world.

Messages that said, “I had the same dream.

I saw Jesus, too.

I thought I was the only one.

Thank you for speaking.

Now I know I am not crazy.

One message came from a young Saudi man who said, “I am a member of the am religious police in Riyad.

My job is to arrest Christians and apostates, but 3 months ago Jesus appeared to me in a dream and said, “Why do you persecute me? I have not been able to sleep since.

I am terrified, but I am also searching.

I want to know this Jesus.

Please help me.

” I connected him with underground church contacts in Saudi Arabia and two months later he sent me another message saying he had given his life to Jesus and had quit his job with the religious police.

He was now part of a secret house church risking his life to follow the one he used to persecute.

Another message came from a Saudi woman who said, “I am trapped in an abusive marriage.

My husband beats me.

I have prayed to Allah for years, but nothing changes.

Last week, I dreamed of a man in white who said, “I see your suffering.

I will make a way for you.

” I woke up and searched online and found your video.

I watched it three times.

I believe Jesus is real.

I want to follow him, but I do not know how.

I am so afraid.

I connected her with organizations that help abused women escape and I prayed for her every day.

Stories like this poured in by the hundreds, by the thousands.

Each one a testimony to the fact that Jesus was moving, that he was calling, that he was saving.

I also started hearing from Christians around the world who were encouraged by my testimony who said it strengthened their faith who said it reminded them that God is still in the miracle working business.

Pastors invited me to speak at their churches.

Conferences invited me to share my story.

Media outlets interviewed me.

I became a voice for the underground church in Saudi Arabia, for the persecuted believers across the Middle East, for the millions of Muslims who were searching for truth and encountering Jesus supernaturally.

But I never forgot where I came from.

I never forgot the brothers and sisters I left behind in Riyad, the ones still meeting in secret, still risking their lives every week to worship Jesus.

I stayed in contact with them through encrypted channels.

Ibraim, the elder who baptized me, sent me updates.

He said the church was growing.

He said more and more people were having dreams of Jesus.

He said my testimony had given secret believers courage to keep going, to keep believing, to keep hoping.

He also said the persecution was increasing.

Several believers had been arrested.

two had been executed.

But even in the midst of the suffering, the church was not shrinking.

It was multiplying.

One year after my video was released, I was invited to speak at a large Christian conference in the United States focused on the persecuted church.

There were thousands of people in the auditorium.

I stood on that stage looking out at the sea of faces.

And I shared my story once again.

But this time I also shared a message that I felt God had put on my heart.

I said the world looks at Saudi Arabia and sees a closed country, a oppressive regime, a place where the gospel cannot penetrate.

But I am here to tell you that nothing is close to God.

He is moving in Saudi Arabia right now.

He is appearing in dreams.

He is transforming lives.

He is building his church in the darkest places.

And what he is doing in Saudi Arabia, he is doing across the entire Muslim world.

This is the greatest missions movement in history.

And it is not being led by human missionaries.

It is being led by the Holy Spirit himself.

Jesus is going into bedrooms, into prisons, into mosques, into the most hostile, dangerous places.

And he is calling Muslims by name.

He is saying, “I love you.

I died for you.

Follow me.

And they are responding.

They are believing.

They are being saved.

I continued.

But they need our prayers.

They need our support.

They need us to stand with them.

Right now there are believers in Saudi Arabia, in Iran, in Afghanistan, in Somalia, in so many countries who are risking their lives to follow Jesus.

Some of them will be martyed.

Some of them will lose everything.

But they are counting the cost and saying Jesus is worth it.

So I am asking you will you pray for them? Will you support ministries that help them? Will you speak up for them? Will you remember that when you worship freely in your churches? There are brothers and sisters on the other side of the world worshiping in secret in hiding in fear but with the same faith the same hope the same love for the same Jesus.

The auditorium erupted in applause and then the entire crowd stood and prayed for the persecuted church.

I stood there on that stage, tears streaming down my face, overwhelmed by the faithfulness of God.

He had taken me from a palace in Riyad to a platform in America.

He had taken me from a princess with no freedom to a daughter of the king with all the freedom in the world.

and he had given me a voice to tell his story, to proclaim his name, to declare that he is alive, he is moving, and he is saving Muslims.

Today, I live in the United Kingdom.

I work full-time with a ministry that serves Arab Christians and helps refugees from the Middle East.

I continue to share my testimony wherever I am invited.

I have written a book documenting my research and my journey titled Dreams of the Desert: How Jesus is Appearing to Muslims in Saudi Arabia.

I mentor other former Muslim women who have fled persecution.

I support underground church networks financially and prayerfully.

And I continue to receive messages every single week from Saudis who are encountering Jesus, who are giving their lives to him, who are joining the hidden church, who are becoming part of the greatest move of God in the history of the Arabian Peninsula.

My family has never contacted me.

I am still officially disowned, still declared dead to them.

But I pray for them every day.

I pray that my father will have a dream, that my mother will encounter Jesus, that my brothers and my sister Nor will see the truth.

I pray that one day we will be reunited, not as a royale family bound by blood and tradition, but as a family bound by faith in Jesus Christ.

I want to end with a direct word to you, the person watching or reading this testimony.

If you are a Muslim, if you are searching, if you have had a dream about a man in white, if you have felt a longing for something more than what Islam offers, I want you to know that Jesus is calling you.

He is not calling you to a western religion.

He is not calling you to betray your culture or your people.

He is calling you to himself, to the truth, to the only one who can save you.

You do not have to be good enough.

You do not have to earn your way to heaven.

You just have to believe.

Believe that Jesus is the son of God.

Believe that he died for your sins.

Believe that he rose from the dead.

Believe that he offers you forgiveness, eternal life, and a relationship with God based on grace, not works.

If you want to give your life to Jesus right now, pray this prayer with me.

Say, “Jesus, I believe you are the son of God.

I believe you died for me and rose again.

I am a sinner and I need your forgiveness.

I give you my life.

Save me.

I trust you.

Amen.

If you prayed that prayer and meant it, you are now a follower of Jesus.

You are born again.

You are a child of God.

And nothing, absolutely nothing can separate you from his love.

If you are a Christian, I want to encourage you.

Do not underestimate the power of God.

Do not think that any person, any nation, any religion is beyond his reach.

He is appearing to Muslims in Saudi Arabia right now and he can appear to anyone anywhere.

Pray for the Muslim world.

Pray for Saudi Arabia.

Pray for the underground church.

Pray for persecuted believers.

Support ministries that serve them.

And most importantly, be bold in your own faith.

If Jesus can save a Saudi princess, he can save anyone.

If he can build a church in the most anti-Christian nation on earth, he can do anything.

Trust him, follow him, and watch what he does.

Finally, I want to leave you with a declaration.

Write this in the comments if this testimony has touched your heart.

Write Jesus is Lord over Saudi Arabia.

Let that be a declaration of faith, a proclamation of truth, a prayer for the kingdom of God to come and his will to be done in the Arabian Peninsula just as it is in heaven.

Jesus is not intimidated by the Saudi government.

He is not stopped by Wahhabi Islam.

He is not hindered by closed borders or religious police.

He is the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords and he is moving in power.

I lost a kingdom on earth, but I gained the kingdom of heaven.

I lost my family name, but I gained the name above all of names.

I lost my title as a princess, but I became a daughter of the most high God.

And I would make the same choice a thousand times over because Jesus is worth everything.

He is worth your life.

He is worth your reputation.

He is worth your family.

He is worth your country.

He is worth it all.

Follow him.

Trust him.

and you will never regret it.

This is my testimony.

This is what Jesus has done for me and this is what he wants to do for you.

May God bless you and may the light of Jesus shine in every dark place until the whole earth is filled with the knowledge of his glory.