“The angel in me, thrives on the devil within.” – Kedar Joshi.

•••

The song being rendered by the orchestra and choir had a certain therapeutic, soothing effect, almost as if it was being delivered by an host of angels. It seemed to hypnotize everyone in the hall, with its soulful rhythm and melody—transporting them to a realm, where all worries and anxiety ceased to exist for that brief spell, giving them a glimpse of an higher, spiritual state of calm and serenity, one that was impossible to access on planet earth. At least, that was the way everyone felt, owing to the drugged, petrified, blissful facial expressions—Anjola was able to read off them. The reason why the music and transient atmosphere, didn’t have the effect it had on everyone else—on her—didn’t elude her.

She was overwhelmed with worry.

The culmination of the church’s service procession was drawing nearer upon the passing of the minute, and still Tiolu was nowhere to be found. The choir’s ministration was probably going to last for another minute, before the bride would be tasked to walk down the aisle with her father guiding her steps, and doing the honor of handling her over—a symbolic gesture of his blessing, towards the union. She had stolen cursory glances at the massive twin duo doors, on the other end of the room and had managed to catch only a whiff of Kunle Keye—Tiolu’s father, standing on the tile padded terrace preceding the archway, with an unrivalled smile of pride mixed with elation, on his face. If the man wasn’t gripped by the deadly claws of panic, then it sure foreboded that her anxiety had only veered out of control, as a result of the day’s event being significant. Nothing more. It wasn’t justified.

“Damn girl, chill out.” A familiar voice came from her side, and she traced its source to find Amanda staring at her with a rueful smile. Anjola was pretty sure that in all alternate realities, and parallel dimensions—it was farfetched and greatly overboard, to posit that she could be friends with Amanda, a liberal, free spirited woman who was full of life and always brimming with vigor, as if there was a furnace of happiness burning in the pits of her stomach.

She had no problems with a person, that was all sparkly and bubbly in glee—but it was mostly Amanda’s wild and party oriented life, that dropped a tad too many cubes of sugar into her figurative cup of tea and made her persona, a bit too much and pungent for someone not accustomed to such eclectic taste. Nevertheless, they were on the same team today as a result of having Tiolu as a mutual friend.

“You’re looking like a private university student, about to face panel after being caught with drugs.” Said comparison, made Anjola crease her brows in wonder. Sure, the metaphor was quite befitting, to explain her current quagmire but she couldn’t help but wonder if experience, on the hand of Amanda was the catalyst that triggered the comparison. Had she being caught with drugs back in school?

“Tiolu is going to show up, okay? She is crazy about Dayo, and loves him way too much to back out of this. And let’s even assume she went crazy over the past few hours, because we saw her not so long ago—she’s definitely not mad to the extent to call out all these people, and leave them hanging. If she’s backing out of this marriage, it’s definitely not today.”

“Gee, thanks Amanda. What a way to put a positive spin on things.” Anjola retorted, redirecting her gaze back to the unoccupied podium. The choir was now singing with a loud, reverberating volume—complimented with a variety of instruments, that suffused their celestial voices with layers and depth and so one had to speak sharply, with a loud volume to be heard over the beautiful commotion of sounds.

“Be sarcastic all you want, but my analysis is quite spot on. After today, I don’t think you’d burden yourself with the worry of whether or not their marriage would work out.” Amanda replied, without giving her another glance—the gazes of them both fixated on the altar. The trio of her, Amanda and Ife—another Tiolu friend, whose upscale social life didn’t resonate with the frequency of hers—occupied spaces on the right hand of the altar, in the front row.

After the aisle by their side, on the first row of the left column—were David and Deborah Tijani, Dayo’s parents. Darasimi Keye, Tiolu’s mother also took up space on the edge of the bench, swaying her body, harmoniously to the music alongside the parents of Dayo also. The trio of parents were clad in luxuriant, sophisticated native attires that epitomized the fact that they were the parents of the bride and groom.

The Tijanis’ were dressed in champagne, stone studded lace outfits—David in a flowing Agbada, with several seamless layers and helms that was yet compact, highlighting the couth skill of his tailor. The ridges of the stone, formed several uniform arcs and glinted—making him radiant and distinguished. He had little to no accessories on, asides a gold stainless steel watch clasped on his left hand.

His wife was also equally distinguished in her Iro and Buba, dotted with even more glinting stones and a fusion of threaded Ankara prints of resplendent colors, emblazoned on its chest region. She had jewelry on—a Caperci sterling silver lab-created gemstone heart necklace, crescent shaped Chandbalis earrings and gold-toned antique bangles. Her makeup was minimal, and Anjola figured she could have mistaken the woman as several years younger if she didn’t know—she was the mother-in-law of her best friend.

Darasimi Keye, wasn’t underdressed either in relation to her in-laws who were looking dashing. She wore an Iro and Buba lace also, but of a deep magenta shade that accented her fair, untainted complexion. Her lace had a design of intricately woven leaves, interspersed to form webs of abstract, alluring arcs. She didn’t have much jewelry on, save a silver rhombic shaped pendant, a Geneva gold crystal watch and gold hooped bangles. Her taste screamed simple, delectable taste in fashion which Anjola could find more relatable than Deborah Tijani’s more, detailed style.

Anjola herself wore the uniform attire of the bridal train—alongside Amanda, Ife and three relatives of Tiolu’s family—which was a tinted green chiffon, Victorian cap sleeve gown with a mermaid neck detail. But as the chief bridesmaid, her design was more flamboyant than the rest. The helm of the dress flowed in cinched folds, taking a stair case model shape covering her legs down to her ankle, and leaving a little space for her silver holographic glitter stiletto concealed heels, to poke out beneath.

She was also wearing a Bolero bridal lace shawl jacket, that further made her stand out from the rest on the bridal train. Her earrings and necklace were complimentary pendant windmill jewelry, and her Quartz gold steel wristwatch paired off nicely with them. She had worn nude makeup, on the insistence of Tiolu and it wasn’t her thing. A handful of people in the church, had paid her compliments on the grounds that she was looking particularly ravishing but she couldn’t help but feel self conscious, with her anxiety insinuating her face was a swirling ocean of colors.

“Okay, I think I’m about to join Anjola in panicking.” Ife—standing by Amanda’s right, said as she peered discreetly into her Duoya bracelet silver watch, before dropping her arms to clasp her metallic gold clutch purse. Ife was the tallest in the trio, as she had a slender figure as opposed to Anjola’s and Amanda’s voluptuous ones. She still loomed higher over them, despite the fact that her heels weren’t as tall. “The exchange of vows would begin in the next couple of minutes, and they’ve not arrived. I just hope it’s an external factor that’s causing their lateness. Like traffic, and not—”

“And not what? Don’t be ridiculous, please.” Amanda snarled, cutting Ife off with a condescending glare before facing forward again. “You too, you think Tiolu bailed or what? This isn’t Hollywood or Nollywood either, like in the Wedding Party where the bride discovers something implicating on the wedding day, gan gan. Someone as observant as Tiolu, would have discovered something if there is anything to discover at all. And have you met Dayo at all? Dude is hot and all, but I’m pretty sure he’s a virgin and the type of dude that can still keep track of all the women he’s kissed in his life. Man’s a geek, okay? He got no dirt on him.”

“Please, I don’t care who the man is. I no fit trust am.” Ife disagreed, her eyes still trained on the podium. “Geek or no geek. That’s what makes him even more vulnerable. A lot of women would flock around him, because he’s really attractive and they would easily implicate him and exploit a weakness, because he’s not experienced in those areas. He doesn’t need to do anything with them, Amanda. They just need to make the world believe that they did something with him.”

Amanda sighed, and shook her head. Anjola also found Ife’s points baseless and unfounded. Even if Dayo was naïve, he knew better than to put himself in the line of fire.

“Once again, too much Nollywood is having adverse effect on you.” Amanda replied, still maintaining her calm composure. Anjola wished she could have the conviction Amanda had, that everything was intact and things weren’t going to go haywire. “Look at the Dayo sef…” Amanda motioned to the left wing of the altar, where Dayo stood with his best man. “He knows his bride is late for the event, but he isn’t trembling all over like you and Anjola. Why? Is it because he’s not worried too? No. Because he knows that the love he and Tiolu, have for one another is legit and she won’t ditch him. Even if there is a misunderstanding, and someone exploits him—Tiolu trusts him, and he trusts her. That’s why Baba is beaming all over. So far as he’s not panicking, I’m not going to panic and you guys shouldn’t either.”

Anjola might have her reservations for Amanda’s persona, but the truth she had just spoken earned her a belauding smile. Anjola’s anxiety still had a strong pulse, but Amanda’s point handed her a measure of control to subdue it. Inhaling hard, she transferred her gaze back to the altar where Dayo and Victor—his best man—were still beaming all over, in anticipation of Tiolu’s arrival.

The groom was a reputed, acclaimed African novelist, that was revered all over the world and had made a substantiate billionaire sized fortune from the success of his books and his suit didn’t fail to drive home the point, that he had money in abundance. He was wearing a three piece, double breasted, plaid grey suit, on a poignantly starched bishop collar shirt, ironed sharp that its edges stood out and gleamed alongside his, brown leather Grenson wingtip brogues.

His full afro hair, was also trimmed into a cropped shape, and faded by his temples. Dayo Tijani was perhaps, the most handsome man Anjola knew, without exaggeration. His looks were so far up there on the elegant scale, that he could as well pull off looking good in rags. Not that, his bride wasn’t as attractive as he was, but it wasn’t common for men to be that beautiful.

Yes, that was the ideal word to use in describing his looks. Beautiful.

Victor was almost overshadowed by Dayo’s elegance, but managed to hold his own against the billionaire author. His imperial slim fit suede, double breasted suit was of optimum quality also and was nicely paired with black laced up Oxfords. Victor, of course knew, he couldn’t match the heavy artillery in Dayo’s fashion arsenal and so didn’t bother making a play for the big guns. He went for something modest, and pulled it off with inebriated swagger.

The protracted ministration of the choir was gradually drawing to a close, and Anjola’s anxiety jump started once again. Her eyes did a quick visual sweep of the church, almost as if Tiolu had arrived sometime ago and was hiding in some secluded corner. While that was thought was mostly illogical and even nonsensical, she didn’t discard it and held it at the back of her mind—as her eyes rummaged her surroundings. There was no harm in turning all stones.

The walls of the church were covered in graffiti, reminiscent of Christ’s death and resurrection—a gallery of miniscule iconic photos, overlapping to form a graphical rainbow. The grey ceiling arched up from both wings, meeting at a higher point in the center and taking the shape of a massive open bible, faced down at them with chandeliers that ran down it’s middle, in a straight line like the bookmark.

The floor was interlocked with black and white tiles, in the shapes of crosses. Four pillars in three columns—left wing, the aisle and right wing—were draped in silk garments, baring bible verses on all sides of the pillars. The altar was a cobweb of grey and white satin sheets, knitted and interwoven to crisscross and form shapes of crosses also. It was quite glaring, that the architect was tasked to make every design detail, redolent of Christianity.

“Oh, there is Lekan. Perhaps, he’d know why Tiolu is late.”

Ife’s words pulled Anjola out of her trance, and made her crane her head in the direction of the entrance being addressed. It was just like she had said, Lekan Keye had indeed arrived and was stepping through the twin duo doors in glamorous grace. Tall, slim and dark goodness like a chocolate bar and probably just as tasty, if the women who usually buzzed around him—as if he were honey, and they were bees—was anything to go by. Anjola quickly tore her gaze away from his approaching figure, and cursed under her breath as she realized she gravitated towards him like virtually every woman in the room.

Lekan had that pull on everyone, as if he were the force of gravity itself. Not that he was so handsome—they were way more prettier men, like Dayo for instance—or that he was so charming—he had charisma, but was more puerile than civilized. There was just something about him, that dazed the cognitive faculties of women. She could liken the vibe he emitted, to an electromagnetic pulse that shuts down and damages all technological appliances and gadgets in its range.

And he did damage a lot of women.

Lekan was the quintessential playboy. All about the sensual uncensored pleasures, never about the commitment and devotion. Since he was the twin brother of her best friend, close constant proximity had forged a relationship of some sort with him. They weren’t exactly close friends or strangers, but basically just engaged in witty banter and enjoyed ripping each other off. She’d known him and Tiolu since childhood, but it wasn’t until three years ago when she and Tiolu, decided to be roommates and became astoundingly close, in a short period of time—that her roughhousing relationship with Lekan was ignited.

She intentionally stayed out of his way, because she knew he was up to no good and she didn’t want to become emotionally entangled with someone who took feelings in a trifle light. She had managed to build up a solid resistance to his voodoo over the past few years, but for some curious reason since the wedding preparation had commenced, she couldn’t help but feel her defense lines crumbling. It was probably because they had to spend more time in each other’s company, as a result of planning Tiolu’s wedding. It had to be that. After the wedding, she’d definitely retreat back to her world in ease and shut the portal of her emotions, making her insusceptible to him.

Despite her frantic effort to keep her eyes off him, she found her gaze drift towards him again as he walked down the aisle. He was decked out in a three piece burgundy velvet suit, and brown suede brogues. Typical Lekan, Anjola sighed. Of course, he refused to wear the uniform grey color that Dayo and his entourage donned. It was an extension of his aversion to rules, and his flair to do whatever he pleased, no matter if it irked others or attracted consequences.

He was only a couple of meters away, when he turned in her direction and started heading towards her and the rest. Anjola groaned internally in dismay. She didn’t have the patience to put up with him at the moment, as she was numb with worry, but of course she had no say over the matter.

He had cut his hair low—she noticed as he drew closer—and was also sporting two sleek, partings on the hair region above his temples. His beard was well groomed, curly and it glistened in contrast to his dark complexion. His eyes still had soulful, hypnotic look that quadrupled the intensity of his gaze—compared to the average man—which never failed to render his target helpless, like a trap of lasers. Anjola couldn’t find it in herself, to break contact with his eyes until he shuffled into the space by her left.

“Hey, trailer.” Lekan greeted in his self manufactured nick name for her. She rolled her eyes, and elbowed him on the rib stealthily in response. He feigned excruciating pain, by caressing her point of impact with agonized eyes. In spite of herself, she couldn’t help but laugh and draw the attention of Amanda and Ife.

The origin of the nickname was rooted in the working principles of cinema. Before any big theatrical release, movie directors usually compiled a series of enthralling action sequences from the film and released to the public as a preview, titled the Trailer. When she had asked how this applied to her, he had replied saying she was short and sweet like a Trailer. She found it a bit endearing, but Tiolu on the other hand thought the name to be totally ludicrous and had gone on to discourage it. Never stopped him till date, from using it.

“Hey, Trailer.” She returned his greeting, although the context in which she used her own jab, varied. It was the first time, she was going to implore it’s usage and so it’s application was foreign to Lekan. His brow creased a bit, and his corner eye vision swept her entire body in one glance. The heat in the room suddenly escalated, even though the air-conditioners in the room were ramped up to its highest modulation.

“Um, that’s your name. Not mine.” Lekan said in a quiet tone, with his gaze facing the alter and his fingers entwined in his back. He still towered above her with several inches, despite the height boost her shoes provided.

“No, it’s yours and it means a different thing from mine. It means you’re like a trailer, as in a commercial vehicle.” At this, his brows furrowed and he turned to face her. “Yup, you’re tall and big like a trailer and you make so much noise, and make a lot of fuss. And you know how road users just hate the guts of trailers, because of the ruckus they constitute on the road? That’s how a lot of people hate you also, Lekan.”

She knew her quip hit home, due to the surfacing of his dimple on his right cheek, implying that he smiled. “Ah, nice one. Lekan Zero, Anjola one. Let the games begin.”

“No game is beginning here, Lekan. It is your sister’s wedding for goodness sake.” Anjola replied. “And taking into account, how much frustration I’ve tolerated from you for the past three years? I don’t think your figure on the scoreboard would be empty. Once again, definitely don’t have your time now. Do you know the reason why, Tiolu is late?”

Lekan didn’t reply her instantly, since he leaned forward an inch, to duck his head to the side and flash Amanda and Ife, charming smiles that sufficed as greetings in the loud hall. Exchanging verbal pleasantries would be a pointless action, since they wouldn’t be able to hear him over the noise. The girls acknowledged the reception of his gentlemanly gesture, and returned it with wave of hands and gleeful chuckle. Anjola knew Amanda and Ife, were privy to the core of Lekan’s cunningness that never foreboded well for women and so it didn’t make sense, that they swoon over him like everyone else. But then again, she knew first hand, yet she could hardly keep her sanity and logic in check.

“How would I know if she’s late?” Lekan’s face squeezed into an aghast frown, as if she had just asked him if he had poop for breakfast.

“What’s up with your face? I didn’t ask if you’re Batman, even though you’re always out every night and you’re usually up to no good.” Anjola retorted. “Is it wrong to assume, that the twin brother of the bride could be perhaps, know something I don’t?”

“Um, pretty much yeah.” Lekan nodded, vigorously. “You talk like you don’t know Tiolu and I aren’t closer than a counter attendant at a bank, and a regular customer. Why would she tell me if she was going to run late? Wouldn’t it make more sense for you, her best friend who knows everything about her—to know? I mean like, the way you guys are so close, I’m pretty surprised you haven’t placed tracking implants on each other. Does Dayo know he’s not only getting married to Tiolu, but to you also? Because you guys are just so inseparable.”

Anjola grunted, wiping sweat over her forehead with the back of her right palm. “I’m at fault, though. I don’t know what I was thinking, when I asked you the question. You dress like a reasonable human being a lot, so sometimes I just forget that you don’t have sense.”

Lekan cackled gently, his shoulders bulging as he stole another glance at her. “I dress like a human being? Aww. Anjola just paid me a compliment. I better go deposit it in the bank, and archive it—so it would serve as a constant reminder in the future when you try to go against your word.”

“You’re just silly—”

“Just say it, you’re tripping. I won’t judge you. We go way back. I knew you when you were still very fat and all, before you transitioned into this sexy, curvy statue—”

“I’m not a statue, dumbass. Statues are inanimate objects. Humans aren’t statues—”

“We both know you’re deflecting, and you don’t want to face my compliment head on, so I’d save you the hassle and skip past it.” He paused to look in her way again, and she cursed herself when she felt her cheeks flood with embarrassment. “You’re such a cutie. Anyhoo, what was I saying? I was saying that I knew you way back, when you were still fat and I didn’t judge you. So why should I judge you now?”

“Why would anyone judge a fat person?” Anjola asked in dismay. “People can dislike a fat person, mock and even bully them, but judge? What did they do? Kill innocent people, steal their skin and add to theirs?”

“Hey, I refused to think you didn’t get fat by stealing extra chicken from your mom’s pot, so that counts as not judging you and not assuming that I’m a better virtuous person, just because I don’t do the same in my house—”

“Why would you even steal from your mom’s pot? Your dad is a billionaire. You got more than enough chicken whenever you eat. Plus, you’re beginning to forget the fact that I know your mom wasn’t around, for most of your teenage years because she was fighting for her life in the hospital—leaving you to your Dad, who I’m sure bombarded you with all the chicken and goodies, you want. Dads might have their reservations, but they don’t usually withhold meat. Meat got no beef with them.”

Lekan didn’t succeed in repressing his smile. “This one that you’re dropping mad lines like this, I hope you’re not an impostor posing as Anjola just to get the location of Tiolu out of me, so you can sabotage the wedding? Makes perfect sense. The real Anjola would know better than to ask me for Tiolu’s whereabouts—”

“She’s here! She’s finally here!” Someone squealed from her side. Anjola couldn’t care about confirming said person’s identity, because she was more concerned about whether the claim was true. And indeed, it was.

The platonic love of her life had entered the hall, glued to the side of her father—her left arm snaked through his elbow and beaming all through, like the beacon of light she was in a dark abyss. She had seen Tiolu earlier in the morning with her outfit on, and she was of course stunning in it, but using the earlier adjective now would be colossally understating things. Tiolu’s beauty at the moment was extraterrestrial, celestial if you might, as it was simply unrivalled in comparison with earthlings.

Tiolu’s gown was a Galina scalloped lace, ball gown wedding dress with a split sheath. The material was dotted with champagne sequins, at regular intervals—looping to form a simulation of a constellation of stars in the galaxy, as the stones glinted. The vivacious gown, coupled with Tiolu’s fair complexion made her look ethereal, like a literal angel that had descended from heaven. And the shawl jacket that hugged her tightly, seemed like a pair of wings. In no time, the congregation rose to its feet and turned in her direction.

Her gritty, dauntless friend seemed a bit timid and perplexed now. Anjola couldn’t blame her. Who wouldn’t be affected by numerous folks peering at her intensely, even though they had nothing but admiration glowing in their eyes. Tiolu had nude make up on, Anjola noticed—as she drew closer to the pulpit. Her friend’s face was a canvass of the most ideal color schemes and murals, telling a tale of bliss and happiness. Suddenly, her sight became watered and tears began streaming down her cheeks. Embarrassed, Anjola quickly wiped her tears off, but not before Lekan took notice.

“Ah, you’re crying and the bride herself isn’t crying. Like I said, Dayo should get an heads up that he’s marrying you and Tiolu today.” He said.

“Shut up, okay.” Her voice came out in a muffled squeak, leaving her no choice than to clear her throat to erase the huskiness of joy choking her from within. Lekan wouldn’t understand. Ecstasy wasn’t an adequate adjective to describe how happy she was. Looking at her best friend, looking like the goddess of beauty and realizing the significance of the moment, and the new chapter of life, she was opening. It was simply too much for Anjola to bear. And she was worried, she might have a nervous breakdown that could result in catastrophe, because most people would interpret it as a negative foreboding.

Calm down, Anjola.

She held on tighter to the reins of her emotions, and assured her subconscious she was in control. She wasn’t going to crash and burn on a day, with such monumental significance. Tiolu still looked tense, but wasn’t crippled by her anxiety because she still managed to flash exuberant smiles, intermittently, from one side of the aisle to another, to well-wishers by her side.

Tiolu’s dad, Kunle on the other hand, looked like the most achieved individual in the world, wearing a smile as if he were being called up on stage to receive a Nobel peace prize. He was wearing an Agbada also, like Dayo’s dad—every bit as flamboyant, and aesthetically beautiful. His attire had a certain print of a cowry necklace, threaded in it—and the embroidery was so layered, that it looked like he was actually wearing a necklace from afar. 

When they arrived by the base of the altar, Dayo stepped forward—undiluted elation in his eyes and greeted Kunle curtly, prompting the elderly man to hand over his daughter. It was then Dayo and Tiolu’s gazes locked and a current of love pulsed through the room, dazing everyone. Anjola’s tears resurfaced once again, and she wiped them off briskly and inhaled hard to keep the rest at bay. The priest then stepped forward, and urged the congregation to sit—so the proceedings, that would ensue in the exchange of vows could commence.

The rest of the events passed by in a blur—the sermon, exchange of vows and the solemnization and pronouncement of the status of the new couple as husband and wife. The hall exploded in jubilee, with fireworks of congratulations and love, skittering about. The couple was marauded by well wishers, from all angles and at some point—Anjola feared they were going to be run over and trampled on. Fortunately, a family relative alerted the security men at the entrance and they stepped in to bring order of some extent. They barricaded the couple and formed a circle around them, as they trudged down the aisle, to head outside.

The church service had ended, and the reception event was next. The Keyes’ had booked the ritzy Harbour Point Marque events center on the island, for the grand, royal-like reception. The security detail was of course, escorting Dayo and Tiolu to the vehicles in the church premises that would convey them to the destination. As chief bridesmaid, Anjola had earned her space in the couple’s entourage and so she knew she couldn’t be left behind, even if she loitered about. Still, it was no viable reason to be a nuisance on the wedding and disrupt the smooth flow of events.

Anjola picked herself up, latching on to the flowing hem of her gown and holding it up—so she didn’t trip and fall—before approaching the throng of people, treading the aisle and filing out of the hall. Despite her precautions of walking in slow, gracious steps and gathering the voluble folds of her dress together, she somehow found herself hobbling off her feet—her arms flailing about, grasping for something or anything to steady her stance. She saw Lekan from the corner of her eye, trailing her and she muttered a prayer of gratitude to God for intervening, but as she completed said prayer—she realized that Lekan, wasn’t exactly interested in helping her out. Rather, he stood almost still and laughed.

The hell.

No, she wasn’t going to go down like this. She stretched out her hands even farther, and pivoted forward¬—not caring the nature of what she grabbed. As it would turn out, her last resort of solution against falling was the waist band of a stranger’s native trousers. Before she could retract her hands, she had dragged it all the way down—stripping said man half naked, with only boxers preserving his dignity. Anjola gathered herself, leaping to her feet—because her escapade had only broken her fall and not stopped it—and darted to the other end, of the thinning crowd, before the stranger—who had gone red with fury in search of the person who had assaulted his modesty—noticed her.

She made it outside the church successfully, and located the stream of cars lining up by the gate and taking vantage positions. She could feel Lekan’s presence behind her, still trailing but she really couldn’t care less about what he thought, especially when he had chosen laughing at her, over saving her. When she halted by the cars, she noticed something off. There was supposed to be three cars as planned—a duo of black Range Rover Sport 2019 and a white Mercedes Benz G-Class 2019, but she couldn’t spot the Mercedes. And there seemed to be some sort of difficulty, as the bridal train and groomsmen boarded the vehicle.

Anjola made her way through to her best friend, whose face broke into a grin instantly and pulled her in for a crushing hug, as if they hadn’t seen each other a couple of hours ago. The hug was brief, but it echoed of emotions that needn’t be spoken out loud. When they released each other, Tiolu’s face melted into that of a distressed, instantly.

“Um so, there is a little problem.” Her best friend started, biting her lower lip gently as her gaze darted back to the vehicles. Dayo and Victor stood at the other end of the car, discussing in low tones and it was then Anjola noticed a perplexed look on Tiolu’s husband too. Whatever the hell was going on?

“So, I arrived late. Not because I wanted to. I had severe anxiety today, about how today could crap out if I got stuck in traffic for hours and never make it to the church event. Dayo would assume I ditched him, and my parents would think I ran away and would have no choice than to call off the entire thing. So, I left incredibly early.”

Anjola tilted her head to one side in curiosity, and folded her hands. “And yet you still arrived late. So, why?”

“Yes, that’s because the Benz broke down mid-journey.” Tiolu concluded, heaving out a heavy breathe.

“What?” Anjola frowned. “Doesn’t make any sense. It’s a new car, isn’t it?”

“Yup, it is. Brand new car that got serviced.” Tiolu heaved another sigh of frustration. “I don’t know how it happened. Anyhoo, I had to get down from the car to board a bike.”

Anjola was sure her lower jaw had fallen to the ground in shock. “You boarded a bike, what? In that gown!” Her gaze skimmed her friend’s figure again, in search of any rumpled edge or stained blot—but it was in the same pristine condition, as it was when it was ordered. “How did you even…how come it’s not rumpled or anything?”

“I had to fold the entire thing,” Tiolu shrugged like she hadn’t just performed an extreme stunt. “What I’m afraid of was the multiple people staring at me, on the road and wondering why the hell a bride was on a bike. I just hope nobody was fast enough to record me on their phone or anything. Don’t need my face all over Instagram.”

“Tiolu, that is just…wow.” Anjola exhaled, relief overcoming her shock. “So what’s the deal now?”

“The deal is there are only two cars, and it’s not enough for all of us to go to the reception venue. I’m sorry, you have to hitch a ride with somebody or board a bus or something.” Tiolu said with a breeze, just as Dayo came up from behind and nudged her gently, whispering something into her left ear. Tiolu tittered a bit, and shoved him away before returning her concentration to Anjola.

Anjola tried to appear totally neutral and unfazed by this display of affection, because she knew it was something she’d have to get accustomed to sooner or later. It wasn’t that she was jealous. No, jealousy was a rather, malicious feeling. Envy was more appropriate. She couldn’t help but long and wish, that she’d find that sort of love soon.

“Why am I the one that has to hitch a ride with someone?” Anjola frowned, as the words registered in her head. Dayo had departed from their side, after giving her a warm greeting also and telling them to round up soon, as they’d be leaving in a bit. “I’m the chief bridesmaid, and your best friend for Christ sake. My space in the car should be secured, even before Dayo’s own.”

Tiolu jerked her head back, and leveled her an expression that had a really-nigga inclination, smeared all over. “Look, Babe. I’m really, really sorry. But this isn’t my fault, and there is nothing I can do. I mean, I boarded a freaking bike on my own wedding day. If I did that, you really shouldn’t be whining over hitching a ride with someone else. Sorry, if that came off as mean but I have more than enough things to worry about, and this shouldn’t be bothering me at all. I can’t tell Amanda or Ife to do that, because they’re inseparable and can’t be split. It’s only one person, that needs to go off. And I can’t tell my cousins either. They’re family, relatives.”

Tiolu’s explanation was legitimate, but it still stung and Anjola couldn’t help being petty. “Yeah, I get it. I’m the one that’s not family.”

“Come on, A.J.” Tiolu reached out to hold her hands, with a pleading, beckoning look on her face. Anjola knew she was being a jerk by guilt tripping her because the girl had been through a lot already, but still—not getting to ride in the esteemed and dignified entourage was something she hadn’t envisaged. “I said, I’m sorry. My folks would react harshly, if they find out my cousins had to look for some other medium of transport. You’re the only one that truly understands, that’s why I’m telling you. You think I also don’t want to ride alone with my husband? I just have to suck it up and ride with others. It’s either that, or wait for the driver to return with a new car and we can’t possibly wait that long. Time is already far spent.”

“Okay, yeah sure.” Anjola swallowed, and pulled away from Tiolu’s grip. “See you at the reception, then. I’m sorry things have to be cut throat like this on today of all days.”

Tiolu shrugged, backing away and edging towards the open door, manned by her husband. “I’m married already, babe. I really couldn’t care much about everything that happens after. I love you. Come to my side, the moment you arrive at the reception venue.”

“Sure. I love you too.” Anjola replied, but she wasn’t so sure Tiolu heard her because she had boarded the vehicle already, and Dayo had closed the door after her. She watched helplessly in low spirits, as the vehicles departed as if she were being abandoned on the shores of some island. Her mind went into work immediately, calculating her options in an effort to ascertain which was best. Her safest bet, would have been hitching a ride with Tiolu’s parents but she saw a number of relatives, arrive in the same car with them in the morning. Definitely, their car was full.

Then there was hitching a ride with the Tijanis’ but she didn’t know how she felt about that. They were relatively strangers, and hadn’t exactly met officially. She didn’t think the working mechanism of a request was that favorable. They hadn’t attained the sort of familiarity terms, that would prompt her to invoke a favor.

Anjola grunted hard, clenching her fists and wondering how she found herself in a mire on such day. As she stewed over her dilemma, she sensed a familiar presence arrive by her side. Groaning, she looked up to confirm her suspicion. It was Lekan of course, again managing to find her distress—amusing. She shot him a look of revolt, and barraged past him but he grabbed her left bicep, and spun her around to face his stupid, perfect face.

“What’s next? You’re going to trip me, and watch me fall just so you can laugh again?” She wasn’t usually one to appear moved or hurt, by his excesses but her emotions were getting the better of her today. And she was yet to figure out a solution to her current predicament. It was getting too much to handle.

“Come on, I’m sorry.” Lekan said with a solemn look, but he didn’t exactly look or sound apologetic. He only apologized out of proprietary obligation, and not regret. “It just happened so fast. I was laughing already, before I realized I could have tried to grab on to you.”

“Yeah, right.” She sniffled, and it was then she realized tears were already dribbling their way, down her cheeks. Grunting again, she swabbed them off fast and looked away as if that would conceal her embarrassment. She wished the ground would just open up, and swallow her up at the moment. And probably, vomit her at the reception venue. Lekan was going to think, his immature countenance had gotten to her so bad, which wasn’t the case. That was what was most infuriating.

“Oh my God, you’re crying?” Was it sympathy or mockery in his voice? She wouldn’t know, since her gaze was still focused on the distance. “I said I’m sorry, A.J. Come on. You’re a lot tougher than this.”

“Oh, yeah?” She summoned courage to meet his gaze. He actually did look remorseful. “Well, my best friend just ditched me behind, and left with everyone else after I made a fool out of myself, in front of everyone earlier in the hall and in turn, embarrassed someone else—”

“A lot of people didn’t see you fall—”

“Sure, it was just a handful of people, I totally have nothing to be embarrassed about.” She growled in sarcasm, rolling her eyes and sniffing hard so another wave of tears didn’t crash. “Look, I didn’t prepare for today to be this…strenuous. Everything is supposed to be perfect, okay. Everything, and don’t you judge me for being a big baby on someone else’s wedding, I just...” She trailed off, cradling her face with her hands and sighing again.

“I’m not mocking you, Jay. I’m sorry.” He used his own term of endearment for her, which surprisingly worked greatly in easing her nerves. She grumbled within, that his charm was still effective on her despite her emotionally wrangled state.

“Yeah, sure. I have to leave now and find a ride. So see you, later bye.” She stepped to the side, and he stepped in her way again, in response.

“Why the hell are you looking for a ride, when I’m right here?” He folded his arms. “At this rate, you’re going to break down before you find anyone. Let’s ride together, and just stop avoiding me unnecessarily.”

She wanted to decline. Not that she loathed riding with him, no it was quite the opposite. No matter how annoying he was usually, he was still great company she loved having around. Plus, there was the comfort of riding in a car—a sophisticated, air conditioned Escalade for that matter. It would be unreasonable not to accept the offer.

“Fine.” She eventually caved in, and continued in an admonishing tone. “But please, don’t push me. As you can see I’m not in the best of moods. So, no unsolicited banter or pranks or whatever.”

“If it’s silence you want, like the one in a graveyard then no problem. I’m your guy.” Lekan replied, before reaching out to her left hand and leading her out of the church premises. She was too exhausted to protest, and so let herself be—reveling in the comfort of their clasped hands. Tiolu had warned her severally to stay away from Lekan, since her friend had started to notice their new blossoming fondness for each other and although she intended to, she decided to enjoy the current moment for as long as it would last.

***

It was Math class, all over again.

The comparison was quite ideal, and attuned to Lekan’s mire. Seated in the driver’s seat, and driving to the reception venue with Anjola riding shotgun, he realized he had no knowledge on how to navigate her moody turf. Trying to discern where her head was at, was equally as difficult as figuring out the solution to complex, mathematical equation.

Anjola wasn’t like most women, he knew. Asides from the fact that she didn’t paw over him, like a Cheshire wild cat—she was a woman of her word. And so, when she said she wasn’t in the mood for chit chat—he knew better than to trump her wishes, and push for a conversation. It wasn’t the cultural phenomenon that epitomized the knack of women, to say one thing and want the other. No, he was quite sure she had no interest in engaging him in a conversation.

That wasn’t his problem, though. His problem was the fact that, honoring her wishes wasn’t exactly making strides in buoying her spirits. Lekan had the conviction that their trademark banter would definitely liven the tense atmosphere, but once again—he didn’t want to dishonor her wish.

They had been riding for over fifteen minutes, and he had kept to his other end of the bargain by remaining quiet, yet her pensive and dreary look, seemed to  intensify despite not being roused. He couldn’t just sit, and watch her stew. Right then and there, he decided to make an effort to pull her out of the sober pit that she had fallen into. He could only hope his heroic attempt, didn’t crap out eventually and worsen matters.

“So um, how is your dad?” Lekan asked on impulse, taking a cursory glance at her and regretting his strategy of action immediately. In the ploy of not coming off as a pest, who didn’t respect her wishes—he had decided to ask a question that sought the wellbeing of a loved one of hers, so as to come off as sensitive and empathetic, but he feared he might have ventured on delicate, marshy grounds. He didn’t exactly know the details of Anjola’s dad health state, but he knew it wasn’t all peachy.

Just as he feared, a ghoulish look fell on Anjola’s face as she turned in her seat to face him, which prompted him to jump into defense. “You don’t have to tell me anything, if you don’t want to and it’s a touchy subject. I just—I was just wondering if he was all okay, since I overhear stuff between you and Tiolu from time to time. And I felt it’d be, a bit intrusive if I go behind your back to ask Tiolu, hence I’m asking you. Not that I have a right to know or anything, and you’re obligated to tell me—”

To his astonishment and relief, Anjola’s face broke into a grin and she shook her head, in a bid to ward his worries off. “Don’t panic, Lekan. It’s okay. I’m not going to throw you out of the car or anything, even if I’m so angered. You’re the one driving the car anyway.” She paused, letting her smile die and transferring her gaze to the window, by her side before proceeding.

“Well, my dad? He is not fine, but he’s also not not-fine. Just somewhere in the middle, not making much effort to recover really. And to be candid, I do not blame him. He doesn’t have friends, and the love of his life has been dead for almost a decade now. So, he’s very lonely and it’s not like there is much stuff that goes on on TV that appeals to someone of his age, and it’s not like his health encourages an extroverted life, even if he had said energy anyway.”

“I understand,” Lekan nodded with a solemn expression, stealing another glimpse of the beauty seated next to him. Despite her troubled state and dampened spirits, she didn’t look like a damsel in distress, who needed rescuing from an abyss by a knight in shining armor. She looked perfectly equipped, with the armory and weapon to slay her dragon and set herself free from bondage. “Not like, I understand understand like I’ve been in the position before, and totally know how it feels. But I do get where you’re coming from and the source of your pain.”

“You do?” He couldn’t read her exact expression, but he could predict she was a bit, surprised he’d relate with her trauma. Probably because she didn’t see anything other than a condescending jerk, when she looked at him. He had his own faults, and knew he wasn’t the best person around, but Anjola’s attitude factored a whole lot as regards her perception of him. She was too guarded, too principled, too out of reach to give him a chance to prove her otherwise, to show he could be faceted, and layered just like every other person. He wasn’t one dimensional, as she’d have herself think.

“Of course, I do.” Lekan said, in the most convincing tone, he could manage. “He means a lot to you, as your dad. And you still want him alive, but you also want to see things from his perspective that there is almost nothing of appeal to him around, anymore. Even you, his last family wouldn’t exactly you know…hang out twenty four seven with him, or see him as a first resort to entertainment and fun. Neither would he see you in that light, because you’re his daughter also. Plus, I know it’s not exactly the same thing but I’ve lost my mom for a really long time, and thought she was dead and was never going to return. Tiolu was still positive, but I thought I was only being a realist. Turns out optimism does win sometimes.”

Anjola relaxed into her seat. “Well, I don’t know if it’s healthy to believe in that in this context. Because the man wouldn’t go to the hospital, and he doesn’t take his pills consistently. My aunt, who lives with him is probably the only reason he hasn’t slumped to his death yet. And it’s also not fair on her also, because she isn’t exactly young. She’s in her late fifties, and should be living in the home of her kids and enjoying the comfort there, but instead she’s staying with her overbearing brother.”

“Well, it’s her brother. They’re family.” Lekan shrugged. “I mean, I’m not saying I’d do the same for Tiolu, because she’s such a pain in the ass and she’s the doctor who is support to be an expert in maintaining good health, still I’m sure if you had a sibling, you’d do the same for them in a heartbeat.”

“I guess,” A smile seeped into her face again and withered almost immediately. His jab at Tiolu had worked, although briefly. “The doctor sort of likened him to an old, ancient car. Very repairable and treatable, but would likely break down again after sometime. And would require constant repairing that would drain funds heavily. She sort of advised me to accept the fate and let him die. Because if he doesn’t die now, he’d die soon but after draining all my energy and resources.”

“Wow, such audacity to compare a human being to an automobile in the presence of their next of kin.” Lekan said with a look of exaggerated unbelief, as if she had told him his SUV was originally Optimus Prime, before his ability to transform was extracted by auto mechanics. “But seriously though, that’s a very insensitive thing to say, but knowing you, I’m sure you not only didn’t pick a bone with it, but also thanked the doctor politely for her advice.”

She didn’t justify his clarification with a response, thus implying that it was indeed valid. “She was just doing her job, really. She had my best interests at heart. Can we please change topics? My mood has gotten a wedgy from the hectic church reception. Don’t need to worsen stuff. I have to be in good enough spirits, so I don’t dance into the reception alongside with the bridal train, as if I’m being forced to do it.”

“Got it, then.” He nodded in compliance, just as he wheeled the steering for a sharp turning to the right. For a while, none of them said anything and a comfortable silence drifted in the air between them. “I’ve always wanted to ask you, if you served in the military, sometime in the past because your guards are always up like, ridiculously high. Or maybe, it’s just when you’re around me?”

The question was one that had always boggled him, even right before they met again when they were adults. He got it that, he didn’t have good word of mouth going about him and positive reviews from people, like a movie on rave—but Anjola’s barriers were so naturally instinctive that he couldn’t help but wonder how it was her default person, and not something she made effort to achieve. Even now, without knowing it—her seating posture was shrouded in defensive instincts. Although she was relaxed into her seat, her hands were clasped, her thighs were tightly glued together and her gaze would dart to his side, occasionally as if to ensure he wasn’t about to do something out of place.

To his dismay, she smiled in sheer amusement. She was the only one that had that effect on him. Made him feel whiny and needy, unlike the usual masculinity he prided himself on, with other women.

“You’re seriously asking me why I’m not going gaga over you? Is that it?” Anjola looked at him, with a brow elevated.

“Of course not, I just—” He cut her off, before she arrived at the ugly conclusion. “—you’re just naturally guarded. I can’t help but wonder if there is a reason behind it, or it’s just natural. That’s all.”

She seemed taken by his maneuver. “Well, there is no dark past where I was raped, or fondled inappropriately by a pedophile in case that’s what you’re wondering.” That made him laugh. “I don’t know really, I guess you could say it’s my default person. You know, how things were when I was fat back then. It was really horrible. People who didn’t laugh at me, mocked me subtly and so I developed a sort of anxiety, that made me very jumpy and conscious of people around me. To discern if they’re looking at me, laughing at me or mocking me. So yep, the guards.”

“I’d say, why would anyone in their right senses make fun of you, but then I was part of said people.” He mused, causing her to laugh once again. “But isn’t it great, that that’s a past that’s behind you and something you can remember in fondness?”

“I guess,” She shrugged. “It was a divine intervention, though. I didn’t go on a diet, I didn’t eat less, I didn’t do anything at all. I just turned.”

“Oh, trust me if you were still fat like that when you were a teenager, you’d have done something about it.” Lekan burst into a laugh, and earned himself an elbow to the rib. He wheezed, coughing violently and gave her a deadly look. “You should be happy we’re not kids anymore, and I know better than to hit a girl. Stop that your elbowing, thing abeg. Don’t go crack my rib.”

Anjola shook her head, with a disappointed expression. “Just occasional elbows. You say it like I do it all the time.”

“You don’t, but you keep on hitting the exact same place. I don’t know how you know, but you do it. The rib is getting weak, so please stop.” He recalled his earlier point, and she promised not do so again, when she was done laughing. Another silence ensued, and he didn’t bother breaking it because the reception venue was already in sight.

In no time, they were pulling over into the large garage, with a mirage of organized driveways like an asphalt of a massive racing circuit, before a race that spawned tons of vehicles. After finding a suitable parking space, he powered off the engine of the vehicle and announced their arrival.

After engaging the central lock, he got down from his own end, and quickly smoothened the slightly sullied, edges of his shirt before retrieving his blazer from behind and snaking it through his arms. While he was still putting himself into the right order, Anjola surfaced in his front, like a honing beacon and he froze momentarily, as he took her appearance in again. Earlier on in the church, her mood had been too turbulent and he was occupied with thoughts of how he could aide her. Now, that wasn’t the case.

Her glitter lace gown, was so fitted to her shape, that it looked like a second skin, and not a piece of clothing—making it seem like her skin was glimmering, reminding him of the raw, unadulterated beauty of a mermaid. Her moderate, and ornate jewelry endorsed that, giving her a regal look. One associated with only royalty. Lekan knew he was gawking so hard, because of her flustered expression, but he couldn’t exactly stop himself.

“Is anything wrong?” Anjola asked finally, clutching her matching purse, tightly, as if it could shield her from his intense gaze.

Lekan shook his head to ward off her worry. “Nothing actually. You’re just so, so beautiful.”

She bit her lower lip, and looked away. A bit flustered, nonetheless. “Thanks. You don’t look so bad, yourself. We should get going in…” she trailed off, as her gaze strayed north—with the hall in the distance. “Okay, that’s definitely Tiolu waving us down. C’mon.”

She strode forward in haste, and he followed from behind purposefully, his gaze focused on her legs—ensuring she didn’t topple again. She might dislike him, or even hate him but what she didn’t know was that he always cared and watched out for her. Like a guardian angel.

----------------------------------------------------

And we're underwayyy! How was the wedding opening sequence? It was a bit difficult to write, so I hoped it paid  off. If you've been following this series from Rebellion, I think you'd find Dayo and Tiolu getting married, very rewarding.

Tag friends, family or anyone else you known on this platform, that would enjoy the story!

Anyhow, the journey has just begun. Strap your seat belts, and get ready for one helluva ride. Do tell me what you think in the comments, before proceeding. And tap that star also!