VULNERABLE

PERIWINKLE AND SPRING ROLLS

ABIDAT

I zipped up my suitcase, finally closing it after what felt like an hour of wrestling with it. It was stuffed with more clothes than I probably needed, but you could never be too sure, especially for an occasion like this. A sigh of relief escaped me as the periwinkle-colored suitcase clicked shut, its medium size just enough for the essentials, or at least what I convinced myself were essentials. I dragged it over to the corner of my room, dropping it there as I took a step back to admire the clean space. Tomorrow, we’d be heading to Maiduguri for the luncheon and the kai amarya. Basheera was going to live there with her husband after the wedding, and I couldn’t help but feel a bit nostalgic about returning to Maiduguri.

I was exhausted—emotionally, mentally, and physically. I couldn’t wait to just sink into bed and let the weight of the day roll off my shoulders. Though I had to admit, I missed Maiduguri a little. It had a way of reminding me of simpler times.

As I walked past my desk, I glanced at the scattered papers from my conversation with Aalim earlier, less than two hours ago. It wasn’t just the mess that caught my attention; it was the sudden thought of him that lingered. I wondered if he was going to Maiduguri as well. The idea nagged at me, and before I knew it, I had the urge to call him. My hand hovered over my phone for a moment before I shook my head.

Don’t be clingy, Abidat. You’re not kids anymore.

Instead, I grabbed the teal-colored veil that was lying on my bed and made my way over to the mirror in my closet. I assessed my reflection carefully. The boubou I wore was a soft yellow, with delicate white and gold embroidery along the sleeves and neckline. It hung loosely, but the intricate patterns gave it a regal touch. My jewelry was simple—gold bangles and a matching necklace. As always, I paired the outfit with my black sneakers, which surprisingly worked well with the jewelry, giving my whole look a blend of traditional and modern vibes.

Satisfied with the way I looked, I picked up my phone and made my way downstairs. Mama was waiting for me.

---

The drive to Mersey Event Center wasn’t long, but by the time we arrived, the excitement of the event was palpable. The driver dropped us off, and as soon as I stepped out, I reached up to fix my ɗankwali, which I had tied in a simple ture aga tsiya style. The fabric was a soft teal, and it matched the veil I wore earlier.

Turning toward Mama, I finally got a good look at her outfit. She was wearing a plain black straight gown, elegant and simple, with a golden veil draped over her shoulders that made her skin glow. Mama caught me looking and smiled.

“ yarinyata kinyi kyau"(my daughter you look beautiful)

I smiled back. “Thank you, Mama.”

In the distance, a familiar voice called out to us, and I turned to see Baba waving us over. He was standing near the entrance of the hall, looking every bit as distinguished as always. He had arrived earlier, being part of the group that went for the daurin aure. He wore a black kaftan that matched Mama’s outfit, and on his head, a black and gold zanna bukar cap rested perfectly over his slightly overgrown hair. As we approached, I caught a whiff of his signature perfume—a mix of oud and sandalwood. I had to admit, Baba looked quite handsome.

He pulled us both into a hug, chuckling. “You both look amazing,” he said, his eyes twinkling as he looked at Mama, who blushed like a teenager. It was a rare sight to see her so flustered, and it made me smile.

Together, we walked into the hall, where our seats had been reserved.

---

As we took our seats, I couldn’t help but notice the immaculate attention to detail in the venue. From what I’d gathered from the group chat earlier, a famous wedding planning company called Elysira had taken charge of the event. They were apparently quite sought after and had a branch in Maiduguri, so they’d be handling the luncheon as well.

The hall itself was stunning, with subtle hints of sandalwood in the air, thanks to the turaren wuta burning at the far end. The guests, dressed in their best attire, mingled around as waiters moved through the crowd, offering small chops like puff-puff and spring rolls. The lighting was soft, casting a warm glow over the room as the DJ alternated between the latest Nigerian hits and classic Arabic songs.

I scanned the room, taking in the scene near the loveseat where the couple was seated. The bridesmaids and groomsmen stood elegantly nearby, the bridesmaids dressed in tortilla-colored atampa that ranged from fitted gowns to loose dresses. Though the groomsmen hadn’t coordinated their outfits, they still managed to look cohesive.

I picked up a piece of paper from the table—it was the menu for the day. In elegant gold print, the couple's initials, B² for Bukar Sanda, the groom, and Basheera Ahman, the bride, were at the top. The menu boasted an appetizer of spicy peppercorn soup and two main meals: mandi rice with fried fish and a simple salad or fried rice with coleslaw and chicken lap. For drinks, there was zobo, kunun aya, and ginger tea. At the bottom of the page, Elysira contact information was printed in case anyone wanted to hire them.

I put the paper down as a waiter approached with a small basket of small chops. I thanked them quietly and picked up a puff-puff.

As I ate, I found myself searching the crowd for Aalim and his mom. I hadn’t seen them yet, and a small part of me felt disappointed. Mama, ever perceptive, noticed my wandering gaze. “Is everything okay, Tahbeer?” she asked, her tone soft but knowing.

I forced a smile and nodded. “Yeah, everything’s fine, Mama.”

Hoping she was convinced

---

Soon, the couple was called onto the stage by the legendary hostess, Zeeja, known for her grand entrances and sharp wit. Ed sheeran Perfect began playing and Bukar and Basheera stepped forward to dance. He placed his hand gently on her waist while hers rested on his shoulder, a shy smile tugging at her lips.

Basheera was a lovely person, though she had what people called a “tap mouth” because she never stopped talking. I smiled at the thought. She and her mom often came to our house, so we’d make small talk, but despite her endless chatter, I had to admit the makeup artist had done an excellent job. Basheera’s makeup was minimal, barely noticeable, yet it enhanced her natural beauty. Her brown skin glowed under the soft lighting, and though I could see a few bumps on her face from where I sat, she looked breathtaking.

She was wearing a black and white ball gown that fit her like a dream. The bodice was adorned with intricate lace, and the skirt flowed out in layers of soft tulle, giving her a princess-like aura. Her husband, Bukar, looked equally striking in a black babban riga that complemented her gown, with a white zanna bukar cap perched on his head.

The lighting shifted as they danced slowly, their movements graceful and in sync with the rhythm of the song.

Watching them, I couldn’t help but think of Mama and Baba. I snuck a glance at them, seated next to each other. Mama was showing Baba something on her phone, and his hand rested lazily on her shoulder as he looked at her with so much admiration, so much love, that it made my heart swell. I hope I find a love like theirs someday.

I sighed softly, turning back to my small chops. I picked up a spring roll, nibbling on it as I watched the couple dance, the soft glow of the lights illuminating the room.......

~~~~

I smile with pride as I update this chapter in the wee hours of the night.

My lovelies I have no explanation for why I update late nowadays so just read and enjoy.

( ﾟ∀ﾟ)人(ﾟ∀ﾟ )

BYE BYE

Also I was thinking if yall have any name suggestion for book 2 please come forward.

Don't be shy come forward DEAR.

Any who pls comment it