15/07/2026
BROKEN PEARL
A Story by Adebayo Rosheedat Abisola (RoShBeE)
CHAPTER TWO
3:30 A.M.
The shrill sound of an alarm pierced through the silence of the night. Unlike many people who would snooze an alarm several times and still blame Shaytan for oversleeping, Misturah opened her eyes immediately.
She whispered the morning adhkar before sitting upright on her mattress. Quietly, she picked up her small torchlight and headed to perform ablution. Their modest two-bedroom apartment was peaceful and everyone was still asleep.
Misturah spread her prayer mat and observed two raka'ah of Tahajjud. That's always been her daily midnight dose, sometimes with her parents and siblings. Regardless of others' strengths, it's always her to do. When she finished, she remained seated, raising both hands in supplication.
"Ya Allah...Bless my parents. Ease their affairs. Protect my siblings. Guide us upon the straight path." Her voice trembled.
"And Ya Allah... Thank You for granting me admission. Please make this new journey easy for me. Let me never become a source of shame to my family."
After making du'a for her family, Misturah recited one of her supplications she never joked with.
Rabbi ishraḥ lī ṣadrī, wa yassir lī amrī, waḥlul ʿuqdatan min lisānī, yafqahū qawlī.
"My Lord, expand my chest, ease my task for me, untie the knot from my tongue so that they may understand my speech." (Qur'an 20:25–28)
“Ya Allah, please bless my parents and my brand. I don't want to be a stress for my family when I get to school.”
Allahumma inni as'aluka ʿilman nāfiʿan, wa rizqan ṭayyiban, wa ʿamalan mutaqabbalan.
"O Allah, I ask You for beneficial knowledge, good and lawful provision, and accepted deeds." (Sunan Ibn Mājah)
"Aamin." She wiped the tears that escaped her eyes before folding her prayer mat.
Instead of returning to her sleep, she walked towards the small corner of the sitting room where her sewing machine was kept. Different pieces of neatly cut fabrics lay beside it. She adjusted herself on the stool and began sewing, making finishing for the gloves, sleeves, sock and shorts.
The rhythmic sound of the sewing machine echoed through the quiet house. It wasn't a big business but that sewing machine had saved her family from humiliation with her efforts to produce and get more customers with her parents and siblings support.
Misturah was the first child of Mr. and Mrs. Kareem, a couple admired by neighbours for their humility, kindness and fear of Allah. Their family wasn't rich, they're far from it but love never lacked in their home.
Mr. Kareem was a calm and hardworking man who always reminded his children that halal earnings carried blessings no matter how little they seemed. He was a carpenter while his wife, Mrs. Kareem was equally loving.
She never allowed financial hardship to steal the joy in her home. Every morning, she prayed for her husband and children before they stepped outside, believing that Allah's protection was greater than anything money could buy.
Their children grew up in an atmosphere filled with respect, laughter and prayers.
As the first child, Misturah naturally became another mother to her younger siblings. She had learnt several vocational skills while waiting for admission because she never wanted to become a burden to her parents.
Two months ago, Allah answered one of her biggest prayers. She gained admission into the university. Her joy knew no bounds. But another challenge surfaced immediately. Her school fees, accommodation, feeding and transportation.
She knew her parents would do everything possible for her, but she also knew they had other children whose futures mattered too. That was why she decided to go to school with her sewing machine. She would attend lectures during the day and sew whenever she was free.
She was determined to succeed and want all her siblings to be educated and successful too. She's leaving for school this weekend and she has been stressing herself more than before to meet up with her accommodation and fare without burdening her parents.
The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted her thoughts. And she raised her head only to see her beloved supportive brother.
"As-salamu alaykum." Mistapha smiled at his sister.
"Wa alaykumus salam warahmatullahi wabarakatuh."
Mustapha stood there, stretching sleep to wipe off.
"Your face still carries sleep." She joked and he laughed.
"It refused to leave." He dragged a chair beside her, watching the machine move.
"Dad said you're leaving this weekend." He started and Misturah nodded.
"Yes."
"So... it's finally happening."
"In Shaa Allah."
"I'll miss disturbing you." He sighed and she smiled
"Abi I should reject the admission because of you?"
"Not a bad idea." he shook his head jokingly.
"Naughty boy."
"What about your customers?"
"I won't abandon them." She continued sewing.
"This machine is following me to school."
Mustapha raised an eyebrow.
"Seriously?"
"Very seriously."
"It's my second certificate."
He laughed loudly.
"You know I can't keep disturbing Dad and Mum for every little thing," she continued.
"There are younger ones behind us."
"I know."
"My customers here won't suffer either. Whenever I finish their orders, I'll send them through waybill. You'll help me deliver them. I trust mum and dad too.”
"So I've become your dispatch rider?"
"A free one." Misturah replied sharply and they both burst into laughter.
After a brief silence, Mustapha became serious, looking at his sister.
"I'm proud of you." He said and Misturah stopped sewing.
"Hmm?"
"I said I'm proud of you." He repeated and a gentle smile spread across her face.
"And I'm proud of you too." She looked at him.
"But promise me something." She requested, her eyes fixed at him.
"What?"
"Don't keep bad company." She said and he rolled his eyes dramatically.
"Again?"
"I'm serious."
"I know."
"Friends can either build your future or destroy it."
"I promise." He promised.
"Thank you." She nodded with satisfaction.
"For what?" He was curious.
"For always supporting me."
"You don't have to thank me."
"I do."
"I pray Allah makes me successful enough to support every one of you." Her voice became emotional.
Mustapha looked away. He hated seeing his sister cry.
"You're our firstborn. Our role model. Our success begins with yours." He hailed his sister.
"Don't flatter me." She lowered her head shyly.
"I'm serious. You're our pride.”
“Sister mhi, how about fees? What's your plan?”
"I've been thinking about it." Misturah sighed.
"I don't want Dad and Mum stressing themselves."
"Neither do I."
"They still have responsibilities." He added and she nodded quietly.
"That's why I'm taking this machine."
"I'll work harder."
"In Shaa Allah, Allah will bless my hustle."
"Aamin."
"I have an idea." Mustapha adjusted himself and Misturah looked at him.
"What idea?"
"I learnt card printing online."
"You did?"
"Yes."
"I want to start a business."
"I've already made enquiries."
Her eyes widened.
"You've planned all that?"
He smiled proudly.
"I'll save five hundred to one thousand naira every day."
"Every month I'll send everything to your account."
"You'll add your own savings."
"Before long, we'll raise a good part of your school fees." He expressed his plotted plans.
Misturah was speechless, she couldn't speak. Her eyes filled with tears.
"Ah, Sister Mhi..."
"Please don't cry. Stop this nah.” The first tear escaped and she held his hands tightly.
"May Allah reward you beyond your imagination."
"Aamin."
"May He increase your provision."
"Aamin."
"May He never allow helpers to depart from your life."
"Aamin." Mustapha smiled and hugged her.
"You stood by me."
"It's my turn now. Your mates are in school already. But you waited for me to write my WAEC, it's my turn to stand by your side.
For a few moments, neither of them spoke. And tears fell freely from her eyes.
“I'll make you proud.” Misturah promised in tears and he nodded “I trust you.”
The following morning...
Several knocks landed on Hadiyyah's bedroom door, but none was acknowledged.
"Hadiyyah!" Her mother called but no response.
"Hadiyyah, open this door." After waiting for some minutes, her mother sighed and walked away.
Inside the room, Hadiyyah had already observed her Salah and completed her morning adhkar. She felt relieved, then switched on her phone and immediately, notifications flooded the screen.
Missed calls. Unread messages. Voice notes. Almost all from one person. The man she loves, BASIT!
Her heart tightened and she clicked on their conversation.
"Why are you avoiding me?" She read and scrolled.
"Tell me my offence and let me apologise."
"Hadiyyah, please talk to me."
"If your parents refused again, tell me. We'll find a way." Tears blurred her eyes as she read each line.
Hadiyyah wasn't able to hold herself any longer, she dialed his number and he answered immediately.
"Hadiyyah?" He called and she remained silent.
"Hadiyyah... are you there?"
"Good morning." She sniffed.
"Good morning, How was your night?" He asked, worry showed in his voice.
"I'm... fine." Hadiyyah pretended to be okay but her voice kept betraying her.
"You don't sound fine." He challenged.
"I'm okay."
"You're crying." He suspected
"I'm not." She covered her mouth, still crying.
"You've never been good at lying."
"Hadiyyah..." He called her name.
"Hmm?"
"Come outside. Let's talk.” He requested and she frowned.
"What? Outside? Where are you?” She was shocked.
"I'm outside."
"Our gate?"
"Yes."
"Which gate?" Her heartbeat accelerated.
"How many houses does ALAYOS own on this street?" Basit chuckled, trying to make her laugh.
"Basit, I'm serious!" She raised her voice.
"So am I. I'm standing in front of Alayo's Villa." He replied calmly and Hadiyyah gasped.
Her phone almost slipped from her hand. Without saying another word, she ended the call.She hurried to the window with trembling legs and gently pulled the curtain aside.
Her heart skipped. He was truly there, BASIT. Standing alone at the gate.
"Ya Allah..." She whispered as she stepped backwards.
"No... Basit."She shook her head repeatedly.
"Please... you can't come here."
Fear gripped her heart.
"No, Basit..." She spoke as if he could hear her through the walls.
"Please leave." Tears rolled down her cheeks.
Images of her father's temper flashed through her mind. She knew what he could do.
"What if Daddy sees you?"
"What if he beats you up?"
She covered her mouth with both hands.
"No, Basit..."
"Please don't do this."
To Be Continued...
A STORY BY Adebayo Rosheedat Abisola
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