Tale#24: Bedtime Tales: Episode12:One Shiny Marble| Tuesday
How a simple gift taught the true meaning of giving from the heart.
Zayn was sitting quietly with a curious and innocent face. The marble gleamed like a star cradled in Zayn’s small palm.
It caught the sunlight as he turned it slowly between his fingers—red and gold swirls spun inside, dancing like fire trapped in glass. To anyone else, it might’ve looked like a toy left behind in the schoolyard. But to Zayn, it was a treasure.
He had spotted it by the playground slide, half-buried in dust. His heart had leapt. He’d dusted it off carefully and slipped it into his pocket like a secret.
At home, he polished it with the edge of his shirt until it shone.
“Ooooh,” Sara said, peeking over his shoulder. “What’s this? A magical wishing orb?”
“It’s not a joke,” Zayn snapped, closing his fist protectively. “It’s… mine.”
Sara raised an eyebrow. “It’s just a marble.”
Zayn didn’t answer. He set it gently on his desk, right in the middle, like a jewel in a treasure chest.
That evening, the house grew soft with the sounds of dinner winding down. The plates were washed, the windows glowed with the last blush of sunset, and the air hummed with stillness.
Aymen walked past Zayn’s room and paused.
There he was—sitting cross-legged on his prayer rug, not praying, just staring at the marble again. His face held a strange kind of quiet. Not joy. Not sadness. Just… deep thought.
She stepped inside.
“Something on your mind, Zayn?”
He looked up, startled, then smiled faintly. “It’s just… this marble. I found it today. And I don’t know why, but it makes me happy.”
Aymen sat beside him.
“It’s funny,” he added. “I know it’s not worth anything. But… it feels like a treasure.”
She placed a gentle hand on his back. “Let me tell you a story,” she said softly, “about a marble just like yours… and a gift that meant more than gold.”
He looked up, curious.
“Once,” Aymen began, “in a small village nestled between two hills, there lived a boy named Idris. He wasn’t rich. In fact, he had only two shirts, a patched pair of shoes, and one toy—a single, smooth marble he kept wrapped in a cloth under his pillow.
“It was his only possession that sparkled. He’d roll it between his fingers before bed, whispering dreams into it like it could hear him.
“One day, after prayer at the masjid, Idris stepped outside and saw a little boy sitting on the steps, barefoot, with tear-streaked cheeks. His clothes were dusty. His eyes, even dustier.”
Zayn leaned forward.
“Idris sat beside him. ‘Why are you crying?’ he asked.
“‘Because everyone has something to play with,’ the boy said, ‘and I have nothing.’
“Idris felt his fingers twitch. His hand brushed the cloth in his pocket. He hesitated.
“He had never given away anything before. Especially not this marble.
“But something in the boy’s voice… something about the way his hands were clenched into fists to keep from shaking…
“Idris reached into his pocket, unwrapped the cloth, and held out the marble.
“‘You can have this,’ he said.
“The boy blinked. ‘Really?’
“‘Really.’ Idris smiled. ‘It’s a wishing marble.’”
Zayn’s lips parted slightly.
Aymen continued, her voice softer now.
“Years passed. Idris grew older, became a teacher. He forgot about the marble. Life was busy, filled with lessons and students and bills and quiet nights.
“One day, a man came to his door—well-dressed, confident, holding a wrapped package.
“‘Are you Idris?’ he asked.
“‘Yes.’
“‘You once gave a marble to a boy outside a masjid. That boy was me.’
“Idris stared in disbelief.
“‘That moment changed me. I felt seen. Loved. It taught me what real kindness was. And now… it’s my turn.’
“He handed Idris the package.
“Inside was a rare collection of books—books Idris had been dreaming of for years. Priceless. Out of print. Perfect.
“‘This,’ the man said, ‘is my ṣadaqah to the one who gave me joy when I had none.’”
Zayn was silent.
Aymen looked at him gently. “Zayn, ṣadaqah isn’t about money. It’s about giving something that means something to you. Sometimes… it’s just a marble.”
He stared at his own, glittering under the lamp.
The next day, Zayn tucked the marble into a soft cloth and placed it gently in his pocket.
At school, during recess, he walked toward a boy sitting alone under the tree. New kid. Quiet. No friends.
Zayn sat beside him. Held out the cloth.
“What’s this?” the boy asked.
Zayn smiled. “It’s a treasure. It’s yours now.”
The boy unwrapped it slowly.
And in that moment—his face lit up like sunrise.
Zayn didn’t need to say anything.
Because now, he knew.
Sometimes the best treasure… is the one you give away.
And ṣadaqah? It shines brightest when it costs you something—but fills you even more.