penandpulsetales

In the heart of a bustling Nigerian town, Zainab is known as the quiet, modest tailor with golden hands and a perfect smile. Her clients adore her. Her neighbors respect her. Her life seems flawlessly stitched—until a mysterious stranger walks into her shop and unravels everything she’s tried so hard to conceal.

Beneath the layers of Ankara and silk lies a haunting past, a forbidden love, and a truth that could destroy her family’s name. As old wounds resurface and new desires bloom, Zainab is torn between duty and desire, silence and survival.

How long can she keep sewing perfection when her own life is falling apart at the seams?

A tale of secrets, sacrifice, and the kind of love that dares to exist in the shadows. The Tailor’s Secret is a gripping urban drama that pulls you in, thread by thread.

The Tailor's Secret

The rain had stopped, but inside Zainab's chest, the storm had only just begun.

Not with that pin sitting on her shelf like a relic from a story that never got finished.

Not with the truth knocking again—this time from the past.

His name was Mallam Yusuf.Years ago, he taught in Kaduna.Tailoring by day.Revolution by whisper.

He was more than a tailor.He was a keeper of secrets.

He vanished during the crises.Zainab was told he died.

But now…A message in his tone. A pin in his style.

She had questions. And only one place to ask them.

The next morning, Zainab boarded a bus to Kaduna.

She wore a plain abaya, scarf tight. No escorts. No tech.

Just a scarf. A notebook. And a thread of memory.

Obi wanted to come, but she insisted:

"Some ghosts only come when you're alone."

New buildings, fewer trees. But the air still carried the smell of roasted groundnuts and dust.

She walked the old path to where Mallam Yusuf's shop used to be.

It was gone.Now a provision store.

But the boy sweeping outside looked up and smiled.

She froze. "How do you know my name?"

"You're in Mallam's sketchbook. He showed us—me and the other boys. Said you were the one who 'stitched fire to silence.'"

Zainab's voice trembled. "He's alive?"

The boy nodded."He comes every Friday. Sits under the tamarind tree beside the mosque."

And when he arrived, it wasn't a ghost that appeared.

It was a man.Older. Grayer. But those eyes… sharp as needles.

"I told them the storm would return with golden thread," he said.

"I had to. They were hunting anyone who knew the blueprint. I erased myself so you could rise."

"Because you uncovered Raven," he said."But you haven't uncovered who placed him there."

"You're saying Raven wasn't the top?"

"He was just one tailor in a network.The real hand… still pulls the thread."

THE MAN WITH GOLDEN PINS