IT STARTS WITH A WINK
AMINAH'S POV:
The wedding was a spectacle—an elaborate affair that seemed more about flaunting wealth than truly celebrating the couple. The ballroom gleamed under the glow of massive chandeliers, the walls adorned with extravagant floral displays in gold and white. Everything felt like it was designed to impress, from the grand staircase to the perfectly arranged seating. But if I'm being honest, I didn't think most of the guests were here for the bride and groom. They were here for the show.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, my eyes scanning the room. The bride, elegantly poised in her lace gown, was radiant. She looked every bit the part of a princess, but it didn't take long for me to notice how many eyes were on her gown, her jewelry,judging the originality of the pearls,material, gold necklace, even down to her diamond ring! Not to talk of the endless stream of pictures being taken. I don't really fancy pictures.
The groom, handsome and smiling, was looking at his beautiful bride with love and I couldn't help but snap the beautiful moment. Looking back at the crowd,It was as if everyone was more focused on the display of wealth and extravagance than on the couple's vows. Atleast the camera man and video grapher are doing what they are here for.
Maryam, however, was oblivious to the undertones of the event. She was laughing and chatting away with everyone around her, completely at ease in this world. Meanwhile, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was an outsider in this glamorous sea of gold, plastic smiles, and strained pleasantries. I know the couple are in love, but it felt like the real celebration here wasn't about them—it was about what they represented: status, luxury, and the crowd of people all jockeying for position.
"Come on, Amina, stop frowning. Smile a little," Maryam whispered, nudging me playfully. I offered a half-smile, not really feeling it. It wasn't that I wasn't happy for the couple; I was just too aware of how artificial everything seemed.My wedding is definitely going to be an intimate one.
"Look at them," I murmured, nodding towards the bride and groom talking, their eyes locked in what seemed to be a genuine moment of love. "I bet half of these people aren't even here for them. It's all about the extravagance, the show..."
Maryam chuckled. "You sound like such a cynic. It's a wedding, Amina. Let people enjoy it. Besides, this is a Lagos wedding, it's all about glamor"
I nodded absently, watching the groom whisper something to his bride, but my thoughts were elsewhere. The guests here were like actors playing a part, each trying to impress, to be seen. Some were already whispering about matchmaking opportunities, others were more focused on what the bride was wearing than the commitment being made in front of them. It didn't sit right with me. But Maryam was right, I was probably overthinking it. I just couldn't help it.
And then, as I was lost in my thoughts, I felt it—a pull, an undeniable force that drew my attention toward the far end of the ballroom.
A man. Tall, striking, his posture exuding confidence without trying too hard. I couldn't place him at first, but he seemed different from the rest of the crowd. And just like that, everything in the room seemed to blur as I watched him making his way towards a woman sitting a table.She was regal, dressed in a stunning, deep green lace gown paired with layers of gold jewelry.
his presence cutting through the buzz of conversation. He wasn't like the others. Her headwrap was styled impeccably, its intricate folds framing her face like a crown. Even from where I sat, I could see the elegance in the way she carried herself.
"That's his mother," Maryam whispered, noticing my gaze.
"Whose mother?"
"The guy walking over," she said, motioning subtly with her eyes. "His name's Malik Haroon. He's one of the Lagos most eligible bachelors. And he's muslim too," She added winking at me.
Malik leaned down, kissing his mother's cheek with an easy familiarity. They exchanged a few words, his mother smiling warmly as she adjusted his tie like he was still a little boy. The sight made me pause. He wasn't just some guy confidently walking through a crowd; he was someone's son—a doted-on son at that.
Chastising myself for staring at a strange man, I forced my self to look the other way. But before long I found my eyes wandering back to the man.
"You're doing it again," Nadia teased, her voice low enough that only I could hear. "Why do you keep looking at him?"
I blinked, startled. "What? I'm not—"
But she raised an eyebrow, giving me that knowing smile. "Come on, Amina, you can't tell me you don't see how he's got your attention."
I flushed. "I'm just looking around." My tone was defensive, but the truth was, I didn't even know why I was staring. And when Maryam mentioned his religion, I got more interested. But it wasn't like me. I wasn't the type to openly show interest in anyone, let alone a guy I didn't know.
But there he was, and it was hard to ignore him when it felt like everything in the room seemed to orbit around him.
I glanced towards his direction again, vowing to myself to be the last time.
But just as I was about to turn away, something unexpected happened. Malik's gaze drifted over the room, casually scanning the crowd. And then... he saw me.
Our eyes met.
I felt my breath catch in my throat as his dark eyes lingered a second too long, an amused smile playing on his lips. He didn't look away. Instead, he nodded slightly in acknowledgment, and before I could process what was happening, he winked.
A wink.
My stomach flipped, heat rising to my cheeks. Quickly, I looked away, my pulse racing as though I'd been caught doing something wrong. 'What kind of muslim man winks at a woman at a wedding?' I thought, chastising myself for even noticing him.
Nadia caught the exchange immediately, her grin widening. "Amina, what was that? Did he just wink at you and you're blushing?" Her tone was incredulous.
"Don't be ridiculous," I shot back, trying to sound nonchalant. But I couldn't stop myself from glancing back his way.
He was still there, speaking to his mother, but I could feel his presence like a weight pressing down on me. I straightened in my seat, determined to ignore him, but something about that moment stayed with me.
'He's trouble,' I told myself. 'Men like that always are.'
I still couldn't shake it. The way Malik's eyes had lingered on mine was still stuck in my mind, like a melody you can't get out of your head. I tried to focus on the wedding, on the laughter around me, but my thoughts kept drifting back to him. Why did I let myself notice him?
The laughter and chatter in the hall seemed to grow louder as the evening wore on, the air humming with the excitement of a Lagos wedding in full swing. Plates clattered as waiters bustled about, serving jollof rice, chicken, and bowls of steaming soup to eager guests.
I smoothed down my abaya as i sat, my eyes flitting across the bustling room. Looking down at my outfit, a soft beige fabric that shimmered subtly, tailored to perfection with intricate gold embroidery along the edges of the sleeves and hem. It was elegant but understated—just like how i want it. It was Maryam that chose and styled my light chiffon hijab that to a style that frames my face in soft folds, secured neatly with a simple gold pin.
Beside me, Nadia was a vision of bold confidence. She had chosen a floor-length emerald gown that hugged her figure modestly, with lace detailing at the neckline and sleeves. A matching headwrap sat perched elegantly on her head, adorned with small sparkling pins.
"You know," Nadia began, leaning closer to me, "we really shouldn't be sitting here looking this good without making at least a little effort to socialize."
I sighed, adjusting my hijab. "I'm fine right here, thanks."
"You're not fine. Atleast let's go and greet the couple, or you cannot do that one too?, she teased. "Let's go, it's just a quick hello."
Reluctantly, I let her pull me up, adjusting my abaya as I followed her toward the center of the room. The bride looked radiant under the glittering chandeliers, her face glowing with happiness—or exhaustion, I couldn't tell which. Guests swarmed around her and her husband, offering congratulations and snapping pictures.
After a brief exchange of pleasantries with the bride and her groom and some pictures. As we turned to leave the couple's side, Nadia slowed down and suddenly leaned toward me. "Don't look now, but he's here."
I froze mid-step. "Who?"
She raised an eyebrow knowingly. "The guy you couldn't stop stealing glances at."
"I wasn't—"
"Sure sure. You'll never admit right?"
"Auntie Fatima!" the bride exclaimed, her face lighting up as she spotted Malik's mother.
The older woman greeted the couple warmly, her smile genuine as she exchanged pleasantries. Malik followed suit, his deep, rich voice sending an unexpected warmth coursing through me.
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.