~ EIGHTY-TWO ~

~ EIGHTY-TWO ~
The morning broke in a splash of light and excitement.

By noon, the Ifedi compound in Enugu had transformed into a wonderland — ivory and champagne drapes billowed in the soft breeze, fresh flowers lined the canopies, and the scent of gardenias mingled with the aroma of local delicacies drifting from the catering section. The sun poured golden light over every carefully placed detail, from the gold-rimmed chairs to the soft orchestral music humming from hidden speakers.

Guests poured in from all over — women in coral lace and flamboyant geles, men in crisp agbadas, children in miniature versions of their parents’ attire. There were photographers darting like bees, capturing every detail, every smile, every slice of beauty as the ceremony prepared to begin.

Inside the bride's suite, Adaora stood in front of a full-length mirror, her hands trembling slightly as Mama Ifedi fastened the last of her gold jewelry. Her ivory lace gown fit her like a second skin — timeless and regal, with delicate embroidery that shimmered under the light.

“You look like a queen,” her mother whispered, wiping a tear from her eye.

Ada turned, her eyes misty. “Mama…”

Kaima, Chelsea, and Zahra stood behind her, all beaming, each in elegant aso-ebi of champagne and orange, their gele tied with practiced perfection.

“She’s going to cry,” Chelsea said, already fanning her.

“She is crying,” Zahra said with a grin, stepping in to fix Ada’s makeup.

“You’ve come so far,” Kaima whispered, pressing Ada’s hand. “And this is your moment.”

Meanwhile, in the groom’s quarters, Dare stood tall in his pristine white agbada, trimmed in gold. Ifenna was adjusting his cap with exaggerated seriousness.

“Brother-in-law, you better not cry at the altar,” Tochukwu teased, straightening Dare’s wrist beads.

“Cry ke?” Ikenna chimed in. “Man’s about to faint when he sees Ada walking down.”

Dare laughed nervously, wiping his palms. “Honestly? I might.”

Just outside the hall, guests were already seated. Aaron and Mandy sat toward the middle, quietly taking it all in. Aaron looked sharp in dark green native wear with subtle embroidery, while Mandy, ever elegant, wore emerald lace with soft makeup and delicate gold jewelry.

“This is beautiful,” Mandy whispered, scanning the décor. “So full of love.”

Aaron smiled faintly. “Reminds me of what matters.”

“You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Always,” he murmured, and they smiled.

Soon, the music shifted. The officiating priest took his place at the altar, and all heads turned as the bridal party began their procession. The bridesmaids glided down, followed by the flower girls who scattered rose petals like confetti dreams.

Then came Adaora.

An audible gasp swept through the crowd as she appeared at the entrance, her father walking beside her, his arm proud and steady.

Dare’s breath caught in his throat.

She was radiant — timeless and ethereal, as if the sun had chosen her as its bride. Her veil trailed behind her like stardust, and her eyes, locked on Dare’s, shimmered with emotion.

As she reached him, he whispered, “You’re everything I prayed for.”

Ada laughed through her tears. “I hope you’re ready for me.”

The ceremony began. Vows were exchanged — heartfelt, raw, and sincere. The priest spoke blessings over their union, and the crowd echoed with “Amen” after every prayer.

Rings were exchanged.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

The crowd erupted in joy. Applause thundered under the canopy as Dare pulled Ada into the softest, most reverent kiss.

The reception was a dream. Music blared, food flowed, and laughter filled the air like a second heartbeat. Speeches were made — Kaima’s was the most touching, filled with sweet anecdotes and a reminder that Ada had always been “the girl who believed in love even when life tried to make her doubt.”

Chuma and Chelsea danced like nobody was watching. Zahra and Aiden were seated close, their hands brushing more than once, eyes lingering.

Aaron and Mandy joined the couple on the dance floor for a soft, nostalgic moment. There was peace in their smiles. Understanding. Quiet hope.

As night descended and fireworks burst in the sky, Adaora stood in the middle of it all — a wife, a daughter, a sister, a friend — surrounded by everyone she loved, wrapped in the magic of a new beginning.

And she smiled.
Not just because she was happy.

But because she knew… she was home.

\----

Kaima stood by her window, staring out into the quiet Sunday night. The streets of Port Harcourt buzzed faintly below, the occasional honk and street laughter drifting into her apartment like echoes of life still in motion.

She took a deep breath and turned back into her living room, bags already unpacked, her laundry sorted, and her fridge restocked. The wedding had been a whirlwind—beautiful and emotional, the kind of event that left a soft ache in her chest long after it was over. But now, it was back to reality.

Final year.

She smiled faintly, fingers brushing the edge of her desk as she mentally reviewed everything she needed to face starting tomorrow—project topics, elective classes, group presentations, and the thousand little uncertainties of a student trying to finish strong.

But before all that, her mind couldn’t help drifting back to the chaotic journey from Enugu.

Chelsea had insisted on driving back this time. With Chuma having to leave early for a family obligation, the task had fallen squarely on her, and Kaima had been helpless to protest.

“Kaima, abeg shift your paranoia aside. I’m a Lagos girl. I can drive anything, anywhere,” Chelsea had declared confidently, sliding her sunglasses on like a Fast & Furious recruit.

“Yes, but this isn’t a movie, and I don’t want to die,” Kaima had countered, clutching her seatbelt for dear life even before they pulled out of the compound.

The trip had been full of laughter, screaming, and dramatic near-stops whenever Chelsea decided to overtake a trailer or speed past potholes with nothing but optimism and vibes.

At one point, they stopped at a roadside abacha stand, where Chelsea bought way too much for someone who claimed she had a “delicate stomach.”

“You’ll still be the one waking me up at 2 a.m. crying for Andrews Liver Salt,” Kaima had warned.

“Worth it,” Chelsea had grinned through a mouthful, unapologetic.

The memory warmed Kaima now as she lay sprawled on her couch, a cup of tea in hand and her legs tucked under her. Her phone pinged—a notification from Mandy’s Instagram story, a boomerang of her and Aaron dancing at the wedding.

That reminded her of the quiet conversation she'd had with Aaron while helping him adjust his cap before the ceremony.

He had found her by the side garden, away from the buzz.

“Hey Kaima,” he’d said, leaning casually against the tree. “You look nice. Chief bridesmaid things, I see.”

She’d smiled. “And you clean up pretty well for a best man.”

He had grinned, then looked down at his feet, scuffing the ground slightly. “So... I haven’t told anyone. Not even Mandy. But I’m thinking of proposing. Soon.”

Her eyes had widened, hands pausing mid-adjustment.

“What?”

He’d nodded, serious now. “I’ve known for a while, but something about this wedding just... made it clearer. I want to do this. I want to choose her. Every time.”

Kaima had blinked back tears and smiled. “She’ll say yes.”

“I hope so,” he had chuckled nervously. “Don’t tell her yet. I want it to be perfect.”

She had zipped her lips and tapped her heart. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Now, back in her apartment, she couldn’t help but smile at the memory. Aaron and Mandy. It felt right.

She looked around her new space—larger than her old one-bedroom. This one had a small balcony overlooking the street, a cozy reading corner by the window, and warm-colored walls that she had painted herself over the holidays. There were two bedrooms now, the second converted into a study filled with books, sticky notes, and an old corkboard where she'd pinned her final-year to-do list.

It felt like growth.

It was growth.

Her phone buzzed again—this time a message from Chelsea:

> Chelsea: “Another day of our final lap tomorrow. If you like sleep late, I’m coming to drag you down the stairs. 8 a.m. sharp.”

Kaima chuckled and typed back:

> Kaima: “I’m ready. Let’s finish this strong.”

She put her phone down and took one final sip of her tea, then stood and walked to the window again. The sky above was streaked with the last remnants of twilight, the stars starting to blink awake.

Tomorrow was Monday.

And she was more than ready.