De - Bright Academy

SECOND HAND LOVE

CHAPTER ELEVEN



She felt his hands on her palms and her heart missed a beat, just an hour ago, their Nikkah had been concluded and they were about to leave the village back to Lagos. Despite the fact that the ceremony was a very brief one , it was better conducted compared to her first Nikkah, two weeks before her Nikkah, Ahmad and his family had showed up and even when her Uncle suggested a Nikkah, they insisted on coming back again.

If only she had her parents alive …

Her Uncle cut off communication with her when he called her twice to see for financial assistance as her husband ( Mukhtar) works in Lagos, and would have so much money.

“I don’t have any money Sir,” She had told him

“Then take it from your husband…” He suggested and that moment, she wish she could tell him what she was going through… but what he said further made her keep quiet.

“I know you are selfish… you will keep rejecting us we your family and allow us to suffer,” He said and he had hang up, he didn’t call her until a year after to ask for money again , she had told him no again, and he swore never to call her again.

He never did Until she called him and pay him a

visit in the village.

He was surprised to see her … Her new car attracted her to him.

“Oh, you must have become a rich woman in Lagos… I know your husband is spending so much money on you …” He said to her and she sighed.

“We got divorced Uncle,” She said to him.

“You left him? Why? And he didn’t collect his car? What did you do?”

“I got this car myself,” She said to him and he was shocked.

“Mukhtar is a violent man …” She said and told him what she went through…

“Haa… you should have endure…” He said.

“His parents were the one who told me to leave …” She said and told her Uncle further about what she experienced.

“So, this car is yours?”

“Yes… I have a fashion house in Lagos …”

“Your tailor work?”

“Yes…”

“You got that car outside from sewing for people?” He asked her to be sure and she nodded.

“Toor…”

“I want to get married again,” She said to him and told him all about Ahmad.

Ahmad visited with his family the week after with gifts and he wanted them to have a Nikkah dome immediately.

It was embarrassing having to see her Uncle exploit Ahmad all in the name of preparing for the Nikkah but he did them whole heartedly… and even promised to get two of his sons jobs. She sighed as the car started.

Even though, she was not sure, If what she had done was the right thing, but she hope it will be … Perhaps, this time she might be lucky.

The got back to Lagos very late that night, her Son was with his Paternal grandparents who promised to attend the Walimah which would be held in Lagos the day after the Nikkah.

Ruqayyah was in school and she wondered how it would be when they meet, she heard about stories of step daughters who would not like their step mothers … but she hope and pray that they would become good friends.

It was her first time in his house and just like Firdaus Fabulous mansion, his was no different, she could not believe that she would also live in such apartment… but with the way her business has been going, perhaps she might own such house in some years.

“Would you like to shower?” His voice woke her up from her thought.

“Yes…”

“Let me show you room,” He said and led her to his bedroom.

“Do you live here alone?” She asked him.

“Yes…”

“This must have been so lonely and bored for you…” She said as she sat down on the bed removing her jewelries.

“You can say that again, it got better when

Ruqayyah come home for holiday…”

“Hmm…”

“But I hope the house will be alive now with you and Aminullah in it,” He said to her.

“Why didn’t she attend the Nikkah?” She asked him and that question was unexpected.

“She is in school,”

“I know … I understand the school would not want her to miss her father’s wedding,” She said looking at him.

“She will be fine …” He said trying to avoid further questions.

“Let me get your bags from the living room,” He said and left the room to go help her bring her bags that had been brought in by the driver. She still have a lot of her belongings in her apartment.

He returned to the bedroom and met her absence…

He sat down for a while before he took his towel and went to have his bath in the next room.









“I have never seen bro being this happy in years.

Thanks for coming into his life,” Firdaus said to

Aminah as Aminah was getting ready for the Walimah. It was going to be more like a get together for those who could not attend the Nikkah. Aminah could only invite her staff and her former parents in law.

“This dress look so lovely on you,” Firdaus said and Aminah broke into smiles.

“And you have a beautiful smile,” Firdaus said …

“Stop making me nervous…” Aminah said and

Firdaus laughed.

“Why are you being nervous?” Firdaus asked and gave her friend a wink, and Aminah blushed, just then there was a knock at the door, the two exchanged glances. “Who is that?” Firdaus asked “I am …” The mother said.

“Mom…come in,” Firdaus said, the door opened and Ahmad’s mother came in.

“Ma Sha Allah, I can see you are almost done,” The mother said.

“Yes mum…”

“I brought you a gift, Aminah,” She said to

Aminah and Firdaus smiled. She watched her mother moved closer to Aminah and gave her a box of jewelry.

“You are welcome to the family …” The woman said and Aminah opened the box and was shocked.

“Ma’am…” She was shocked and short of words. The box contains a complete set of jewelries and she need no one to tell her that they were expensive.

“Just accept it as a token,” The woman said.

“Thank you ma’am, these are not token …” She

said.

“I don’t want you to see me as a mom in law but as a mother …”

“Thank you ma’am,” Aminah said smiling.

“You are welcome dear…” The woman said to her cheerfully and Firdaus smiled the more.

If only she would be that lucky with her in-law…





She opened her eyes and wondered what woke her up, and then she saw him sitting beside her on the bed. It must have been his hand on her cheek that woke her up … after the Walimah the day before, they both got home so tired. They both almost missed fajr that morning …he had rushed his ghusl and rushed to the Masjid, He missed a Rakah.

He had returned from the Masjid and they have returned to bed.

“It almost noon and you haven’t had breakfast…” He said to her and she stood up in a hurry… and then she saw the tray on the stool beside the bed.

It contains a cup of tea and fried egg with bread.

She was surprised…,

“You made this?” She asked… it was the first time, someone would ever serve her that way.

“You don’t like it?” He asked looking confused…

“You don’t like the food?” He asked her and she shook her head.

“I am just …surprised,” She said to him.

“Why?” He asked looking at him, he was used to cooking for his late wife who sometimes would not even be able to leave the bed due to bad health. He did that happily.

“I have never been served like this before…” She said to him and he smiled.

“Get used to it … for a moment, I thought you don’t like tea and bread,” He said and watched her sat up, he then moved the table close to her .

“Are there people who don’t take tea and bread?” She asked him.

“Yes… I met someone like that during my school days. We call him bush boy … and then one of my cousin don’t take tea as well,” He said to her.

“I can’t call my cousin a bush boy … can I?” He asked and she laughed.

They started their food.

“I don’t know if this will do for breakfast… it is almost eleven … I don’t know what you would have loved me to cook…” He said to her.

“Can you cook?” She asked

“Yes, I can ,”

“Wow!!! And do you cook?” She asked

“Yes… I do cook “

“But Firdaus couldn’t, how come you can?” She asked

“I actually learnt how to cook some food when I started the university…I attended the federal university and stay in the hostel, Hamid taught me how to make some food …and when I got married … I had to learn how to properly … especially on days when Zulaykha couldn’t …” He said to her and she nodded, then she recall how Mukhtar would beat her mercilessly if she made a mistake with food or cook later than usual.

“Hi…” She heard his voice and realized that he was looking at her.

“You aren’t eating…are you okay?” He asked her.

“I am fine …”

“Are you sure?” He asked her and she nodded. “You know, you can tell me anything…” He said to her and she shook her head.

“Okay,” He said and they eat quietly. She made an attempt to pack the plates, but he stopped her.

“Let me …” He said to her and she sighed wondering if that will change after a few days.

©Umm Rumaysah

Episode 5

Alhaji Anifowose dressed in a black kaftan, paired with matching leather shoes that carried the scent of quiet elegance. That morning, he left home a few minutes before 7 a.m. It was one of those days when work called early, and punctuality was a silent rule he lived by.

He was about to drive past PEACE Estate when his tire splashed muddy water on a young sister dressed in royal blue. For a moment, he wanted to keep going, but something held him back. He reversed gently, rolled down the window, and called out.

“As-salam alaykum warahmatullahi wabarakatuh, sister. I’m truly sorry—it was a mistake.”

“Wa alaykum salam warahmatullahi wabarakatuh,” she replied softly, her tone calm but her eyes slightly stung with irritation.

He noticed her discomfort and added, “I can drop you home so you can change. You look like you’re heading somewhere important.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said, trying to brush the water off her dress. She began to walk away.

“One more minute, sis… can I have your contact?” he asked without thinking too deeply.

She turned back, half-amused. “Is this how you stop every sister you meet on the road?”

Her words froze him. He had never done such a thing. Never. A’aishah was his woman—his wife, his peace. He quickly apologized, lowered his gaze, and drove off quietly, embarrassed by his own moment of weakness.

When he arrived at the office, he joined a quick board meeting and was still trying to clear his head when his secretary entered.

“Sir, Talk with Hafsoh is here.”

She walked in gracefully—the same sister in royal blue. The one he had splashed water on.

“This is Talk with Hafsoh,” the secretary introduced. “She’s the face behind our upcoming content series.”

“As-salam alaykum warahmatullahi wabarakatuh,” Hafsoh greeted softly, her voice familiar yet gentler than before.

“Wa alaykum salam warahmatullahi wabarakatuh,” he replied, trying not to show surprise.

They discussed her proposal for the company’s advertisement plans. She was eloquent, focused, and carried herself with quiet modesty. Before she left, he apologized again for the morning.

“It’s fine, Sir,” she said with a calm smile.

To him, it was coincidence. A passing moment that life threw his way.
But to her, it was something different—something that brushed softly against the edges of her heart.

“He’s cute,” she whispered to herself as she stepped out of his office.

Later that day, she returned to school for her counseling session with a student, but her thoughts lingered elsewhere.

GAME OF LOVE 1

A STORY BY ADEBAYO ROSHEEDAT ABISOLA {RoShBeE}

Chapter Six {6}

Diana was devastated. She returned to her room sadly and met her sister, Rakiat packing her belongings. She has packed two bags already and on the third. Semiu and Semiat are watching her while she ran to her with surprise written all over her eyes. Rakiat welcomed her with an ingenuine smile and she continued what she was doing. She packed the bags and ordered Semiu and Semiat to change their clothes which they obeyed immediately. She faced her sister who stood like a helpless child.

"We're leaving today, I'm glad everything is resolved. Mum said I should return home today with Taiwo and Kenny. They're spending their holiday with her." Rakiat explained and Diana knew immediately that something was wrong.

She knew she was wrong and fear filled her heart as she thought of what her sister warned her about the last time she came visiting. Ummu Yusroh, who happened to be the only family that cared for Diana after her parents death. She gave all she needed as mother and daughter, advice, visitation and frequent calls on how to live a peaceful life. She voluntarily sent her only child, Rakiat to live with her sister since she finished her NCE program. Ummu Yusroh gave birth to seven children but all died and she was left with Rakiat. She only took the blame on herself and advised everyone that's close to her not to make such a mistake.

While growing up, Ummu Yusroh wasn't raised from a wealthy family. They hardly eat twice a day. And most of the time, their meal is always 001, 010, 100, which they all adapted with. She lives in a rural area with her parents and three young ones. One day, her parents died while sleeping. Both died the same day and time. She cried out, expressing her fear to take care of her young ones being the eldest sister, first born. She stopped her education and started hawking on the busy street to satisfy her young ones. Gradually, she ignored her dream and catered for her three young ones till she met Diana's father, Jejelaye, who changed her story. During those hustling periods, she would always pray to Allah not to have more than a child so that she would be able to care for him/her. She even prayed that she don't want a girl but male due to one of her sisters that got pregnant despite how she worked hard to cater for all their needs. Anytime she observed her five daily solah, she would sit and pray to Allah to continue His Mercy on her and send their helper soon. she will always end her prayer telling Allah to give her a child which she would be able to take care of. She had no one to correct her and had this notion till she got married. Her lifestyle changed after meeting .
Jejelaye, who fathered her and she got married to a wealthy man who catered for her needs and family.

Gradually, she started giving birth which she loved. Between the lines of five years, she gave birth to seven children. She gave birth to twins thrice and Rakiat who happened to be her last child. She took care of her children and they attended the same school and they're known as the best in their different classes. While her kids were growing up, she had forgotten her prayer nor to beg for forgiveness until she lost her six children in a day. They didn't have an accident, they sleep and never wake. It's only Rakiat that woke the following day. She cried day and night asking Allah while he made her sad. One day, she remembered while she was young and realized her words to have a child. She seeks forgiveness and tries giving birth to more children at her early age of thirties but it isn't successful till she reaches her menopause. She accepted her fate and always yelled at any children that uttered that statement anywhere she was.

Diana looked speechless and helpless, she moved to Rakiat and held her hand but the latter smiled in return.

"We're leaving, please be fine." Rakiat said and led the children out of her room to the gate.

Diana ran after them but they're already in the car which took off immediately. She watched the car till it faded from her sight and sluggishly entered her room.

The following morning, Diana was the first to wake. She cleaned the kitchen and washed the used plates then set off to prepare the family breakfast. At 5:00 am, she noticed that none of the family members had woken up, including her husband. She stood still and thought of what to do so that no one would be angry at her early in the morning. She first walked to Wasilat's door and knocked before heading to Nadhrah's room where her husband slept last night. Nadhrah was scared to hear her voice, she wondered what she was about to bring up and heaved. Her husband stood and walked out of her room while she followed him but was surprised to see Diana still standing by the side of her door.

"As salam Alaykum, hope you slept well. I'm sorry for what happened yesterday." Diana extended her apology and Nadhrah smiled.

"Waleykum Salam, I'm fine. Thanks, why are you here?" She asked in confusion because it's unusual of Diana to wake the family.

"It's nothing, let's prepare for the Salah together." She said and went to Wasilat's room.

"As salam Alaykum, how was your night?" She greeted and Wasilat stood without reply.

"Hope no problem? Why are you here?" Wasilat replied, giving her a stern look.

"I'm just here to check on you." She replied reluctantly.

"If I am still alive and not dead, abi? Ezeun o. A wa daa daa èven if you're not pleased to know." Wasilat replied and walked out of her.

Wasilat smiled instead and carried her two daughters to the bathroom where she bathed them. She ordered Rabiu to bring out their clothes which he obeyed and she dressed for them. She faced Rabiu and held his hand.

"Rabiu, I'm sorry for what happened yesterday. I'll see the headmaster and you will be admitted into the school again. But, you can't write a common entrance exam till next year." Diana advised him motherly and Rabiu nodded.

"Will I continue my schooling even if I am to write the exam next year? If that's possible, I'll be glad." Rabiu replied and she nodded.

"You're still here? Are you trying to poison my children?" Wasilat shouted as she entered.

Her mouth went shut as she realized Diana had good intentions immediately but it's too hard for her to believe. She looked at the hijab in her hand and stared at her kids. Rabiu is holding a towel ready to bathe. She wondered the kind of magic Diana used on him that made him ready to bathe voluntarily.

"I'll come to your room after my bath, please take me to his house. I will apologize to Rainat." Rabiu replied and dashed to the bathroom leaving his mother in confusion.

"I'm sorry for what happened yesterday, please don't take it to heart." Diana apologized and left her room.

Her phone rang, it's her sister, Ummu Yusroh. She sluggishly picked her call and heaved.

"As salam Alaykum," Diana greeted.

"Waleykum Salam, you can't even call?" She charged at her.

"I'm sorry mum," she replied.

"Just checking on you, bye!" Ummu Yusroh said and ended the call.

Diana wondered why she didn't scold nor talk about what she did wrong. She knew she had offended her sister and became confused.

"Rabb Yaseer!" She mumbled.

"I can't be fooled by her crocodile attitude. I'm very sure she is trying to be nice to blind us with her wicked attitude." Nadhrah said and Wasilat nodded.

"I suspect that too, I can't be fooled. She should just maintain her lane and avoid anything that relates to me." Wasilat added sternly and tears fell from Diana's eyes as she eavesdropped on their conversation.

Rakiat is done with her morning prayer with the kids. She walked to the sitting room but noticed an aroma coming from the dining room which left her mouth agape. Turning her face to the sitting room, she saw her mother sitting and looked at the dining room again only to see someone there.

"Who is cooking? Mum, is that you?" She asked and her mother replied from the sitting room.

She walked sluggishly to her mother and tapped her.

"Who is there?" She asked her mother who smiled in return.

"She is my new daughter, she is done cooking. Why can't you assist her in serving the food?" Ummu Yusroh asked and Rakiat whispered to her ear.

"Your new daughter? In what sense mum? You're putting in the dark." Rakiat whispered to her mother's ear.

"As salam Alaykum ma," Layla greeted.

"Waleykum Salam my daughter, how are you? Please sit." Ummu Yusroh said and Rakiat noticed she is heavily pregnant.

"Mum, she is pregnant? Your new daughter? Who impregnated her? Mum..." Rakiat was cut short by her mother.

"It's a long story, please treat her nicely." Ummu Yusroh replied and walked to the dining room where the twins joined her.

"Good morning ma," Layla greeted her.

"Who is your ma? Don't greet me! W***e!" Rakiat charged at her, hissed and left for her room in anger.

To be continued...

A story by Adebayo Rosheedat Abisola

Don't be stingy to engage 💜

His choice
Chapter Five

He sat in his car, engine off, windows down, letting the distant hum of shovels scraping cement and soft murmurs of Hausa-accented bargaining seep into his ears. The site buzzed with life labourers moving in rhythm, bricks balanced on shoulders, sweat glistening under the late morning sun. Some gathered around a nearby vendor buying sachets of cold water, their laughter rising above the sound of metal clanging on scaffolds.

He had promised his friend—who was out of the country—to keep an eye on the project. It wasn’t much to ask. Besides, it gave him something to fill the quiet.

His eyes skimmed the progress. Pillars standing strong. Windows installed on the second floor. The smell of freshly mixed cement clung to the air. He was impressed.

He leaned back in his seat, then bent forward, resting his forehead on the steering wheel. A soft, involuntary smile stretched across his lips—not because of the building, but because of who he had left at home.

In the past two months, she had shifted from a shadow he almost lost, to a warmth that now anchored him. Getting her back hadn’t been easy. The wounds were deep, her trust brittle like glass, but he had stayed offering time, honesty, and something close to hope. Now, waking up beside her felt like a second chance he never knew he’d be lucky enough to receive.

A shout interrupted his thoughts.

He sat up, brows furrowing as he looked ahead. A small crowd had formed near the far corner of the site. Something was off. He quickly stepped out of the car, slamming the door behind him as he rushed towards the noise.

“What happened?” he called, heart pounding.

But when he pushed through the crowd, what he saw froze him.

Right there, sitting on the dusty floor, her grey scarf wrapped clumsily over her face, blood trickling from her ankle… was Aaliyah.

His wife.

His mouth parted in shock. His chest tightened.

What was she doing here? Why was she hurt?

She had gotten ready that morning, her steps slow but determined, while little Amrah trailed behind her, clinging to the hem of her wrapper. The money from the unknown caller was almost gone now stretched thinner than she’d hoped. And though her heart longed for another miracle, she knew she couldn’t afford to sit and wait for one.

So, she wandered.

Street after street, face turned down, eyes scanning, until her legs brought her to a nearby construction site. Men moved briskly, shouting commands, carrying bricks, shoveling sand a world not made for women like her. Still, she approached one of the labourers, asking, then pleading for any work they could give.

They hesitated. They argued. Especially when they noticed Amrah standing quietly beside her, holding onto her mother’s gown like a lifeline.
"This place no be for woman with pikin," one of them muttered.

But her eyes didn’t blink. Her voice didn’t shake.
“I will work. I just need a chance.”

At last reluctantly they agreed.

With a quiet Alhamdulillah under her breath, she tied her scarf tighter and got to work. Amrah, seated under a makeshift shade, nibbled on a small bag of chips given by a kind vendor nearby her tiny feet swinging above the ground, unaware of the weight her mother now carried.

The commotion had drawn a small crowd. Shouts and concerned murmurs rose into the air as a woman struggled to stand from where she had fallen a mound of sand had given way beneath her feet while she tried to carry a pan of gravel on her head.

Idris pushed through the gathering, his brows furrowed in concern. But as his eyes landed on her the woman clutching her side, wincing in pain the world around him tilted.

Grey hijab. Worn but clean. Dust clung to the fabric like it belonged there, yet her posture remained guarded, proud, refusing help even as she staggered to her feet.

“Aaliyah…?” The name sat on his tongue, but never left his lips.

It was her. There was no doubt.

And then like a soft echo of a memory a little girl darted from the corner, her small legs running fast, sandals flapping as she shouted,
“Mama!”

She wrapped her arms around the woman’s knees, looking up at her with concern. Aaliyah bent slowly, her hands trembling slightly, and pulled Amrah close, whispering something Idris couldn’t hear.

He couldn’t move.

His chest tightened painfully, the sight before him splitting him open in too many places. The woman he almost died for, the woman he thought he’d known... now hunched in a construction site, injured, working for survival, with her daughter.

The sound of the word 'daughter' echoed in his ear.

The breeze carried the faint sound of Amrah’s giggle as she tried to dust off her mother's sleeve.

Idris blinked rapidly, jaw clenched.

Then, without another word, he turned, walked back to his car, and drove off heart rattling in confusion, pain, and a thousand unspoken questions.

The house was quiet when Idris returned. Too quiet.

Nuriya had just finished setting the table for dinner, her voice soft as she greeted him.
“You’re back early, Alhamdulillah. Come and eat…”

But he didn’t answer.

He walked past her. Straight into the bedroom. The door closed without a word.

She paused, her brows folding. This wasn’t like him. Not at all.

Since their marriage, things had been steadily warming slow, but kind. He’d made efforts. Shared smiles. Held her hand during Qur’an recitations. He’d begun to look at her… like a husband truly looking at his wife.

But now?

It was like he was someone else.
He never left word hanging in her throat, he was attentive and easily calmed when annoyed.

When she knocked softly on the door later, he answered flatly, “I’m resting.”

He hadn’t even touched his food.

That night, he slept with his back to her a habit she thought would never occur in her first two months of marriage.

And in the days that followed, it became clearer.

He’d leave earlier than usual, come back later. He’d sit on the prayer mat longer than before, his face buried in his palms after every solat. He answered gently when she spoke, but his eyes never truly met hers.

Nuriya started folding in on herself.

She made his favourite meals that would take much persuasion before he could take a bite.

She left small notes in his prayer rug unread.

-: The silence between them grew thicker, heavier.

And she couldn’t shake the feeling… that something, or someone, had found its way to his heart again.

But she didn’t ask.

She just prayed.

Because how do you ask a man what has broken him when you’re afraid of the answer?
His choice
Chapter Five

He sat in his car, engine off, windows down, letting the distant hum of shovels scraping cement and soft murmurs of Hausa-accented bargaining seep into his ears. The site buzzed with life labourers moving in rhythm, bricks balanced on shoulders, sweat glistening under the late morning sun. Some gathered around a nearby vendor buying sachets of cold water, their laughter rising above the sound of metal clanging on scaffolds.

He had promised his friend—who was out of the country—to keep an eye on the project. It wasn’t much to ask. Besides, it gave him something to fill the quiet.

His eyes skimmed the progress. Pillars standing strong. Windows installed on the second floor. The smell of freshly mixed cement clung to the air. He was impressed.

He leaned back in his seat, then bent forward, resting his forehead on the steering wheel. A soft, involuntary smile stretched across his lips—not because of the building, but because of who he had left at home.

In the past two months, she had shifted from a shadow he almost lost, to a warmth that now anchored him. Getting her back hadn’t been easy. The wounds were deep, her trust brittle like glass, but he had stayed offering time, honesty, and something close to hope. Now, waking up beside her felt like a second chance he never knew he’d be lucky enough to receive.

A shout interrupted his thoughts.

He sat up, brows furrowing as he looked ahead. A small crowd had formed near the far corner of the site. Something was off. He quickly stepped out of the car, slamming the door behind him as he rushed towards the noise.

“What happened?” he called, heart pounding.

But when he pushed through the crowd, what he saw froze him.

Right there, sitting on the dusty floor, her grey scarf wrapped clumsily over her face, blood trickling from her ankle… was Aaliyah.

His wife.

His mouth parted in shock. His chest tightened.

What was she doing here? Why was she hurt?

She had gotten ready that morning, her steps slow but determined, while little Amrah trailed behind her, clinging to the hem of her wrapper. The money from the unknown caller was almost gone now stretched thinner than she’d hoped. And though her heart longed for another miracle, she knew she couldn’t afford to sit and wait for one.

So, she wandered.

Street after street, face turned down, eyes scanning, until her legs brought her to a nearby construction site. Men moved briskly, shouting commands, carrying bricks, shoveling sand a world not made for women like her. Still, she approached one of the labourers, asking, then pleading for any work they could give.

They hesitated. They argued. Especially when they noticed Amrah standing quietly beside her, holding onto her mother’s gown like a lifeline.
"This place no be for woman with pikin," one of them muttered.

But her eyes didn’t blink. Her voice didn’t shake.
“I will work. I just need a chance.”

At last reluctantly they agreed.

With a quiet Alhamdulillah under her breath, she tied her scarf tighter and got to work. Amrah, seated under a makeshift shade, nibbled on a small bag of chips given by a kind vendor nearby her tiny feet swinging above the ground, unaware of the weight her mother now carried.

The commotion had drawn a small crowd. Shouts and concerned murmurs rose into the air as a woman struggled to stand from where she had fallen a mound of sand had given way beneath her feet while she tried to carry a pan of gravel on her head.

Idris pushed through the gathering, his brows furrowed in concern. But as his eyes landed on her the woman clutching her side, wincing in pain the world around him tilted.

Grey hijab. Worn but clean. Dust clung to the fabric like it belonged there, yet her posture remained guarded, proud, refusing help even as she staggered to her feet.

“Aaliyah…?” The name sat on his tongue, but never left his lips.

It was her. There was no doubt.

And then like a soft echo of a memory a little girl darted from the corner, her small legs running fast, sandals flapping as she shouted,
“Mama!”

She wrapped her arms around the woman’s knees, looking up at her with concern. Aaliyah bent slowly, her hands trembling slightly, and pulled Amrah close, whispering something Idris couldn’t hear.

He couldn’t move.

His chest tightened painfully, the sight before him splitting him open in too many places. The woman he almost died for, the woman he thought he’d known... now hunched in a construction site, injured, working for survival, with her daughter.

The sound of the word 'daughter' echoed in his ear.

The breeze carried the faint sound of Amrah’s giggle as she tried to dust off her mother's sleeve.

Idris blinked rapidly, jaw clenched.

Then, without another word, he turned, walked back to his car, and drove off heart rattling in confusion, pain, and a thousand unspoken questions.

The house was quiet when Idris returned. Too quiet.

Nuriya had just finished setting the table for dinner, her voice soft as she greeted him.
“You’re back early, Alhamdulillah. Come and eat…”

But he didn’t answer.

He walked past her. Straight into the bedroom. The door closed without a word.

She paused, her brows folding. This wasn’t like him. Not at all.

Since their marriage, things had been steadily warming slow, but kind. He’d made efforts. Shared smiles. Held her hand during Qur’an recitations. He’d begun to look at her… like a husband truly looking at his wife.

But now?

It was like he was someone else.
He never left word hanging in her throat, he was attentive and easily calmed when annoyed.

When she knocked softly on the door later, he answered flatly, “I’m resting.”

He hadn’t even touched his food.

That night, he slept with his back to her a habit she thought would never occur in her first two months of marriage.

And in the days that followed, it became clearer.

He’d leave earlier than usual, come back later. He’d sit on the prayer mat longer than before, his face buried in his palms after every solat. He answered gently when she spoke, but his eyes never truly met hers.

Nuriya started folding in on herself.

She made his favourite meals that would take much persuasion before he could take a bite.

She left small notes in his prayer rug unread.

-: The silence between them grew thicker, heavier.

And she couldn’t shake the feeling… that something, or someone, had found its way to his heart again.

But she didn’t ask.

She just prayed.

Because how do you ask a man what has broken him when you’re afraid of the answer?