Kismet | ENGLOT

Chapter 48

Engfa's POV:

The soft hum of conversations and the faint sound of music drifted in from the setup outside as I sat in the makeup chair, fidgeting like I was about to face a firing squad. My palms were clammy, my stomach twisted in nervous knots, and no amount of deep breathing seemed to help. My friends were around me, their chatter and laughter filling the room, but even their attempts to ease my nerves felt like a distant murmur.

"Engfa, you need to stop moving," Patcha scolded lightly, her voice teasing but firm as she nudged my shoulder. "If you keep twitching, your eyeliner's going to end up on your forehead."

"Yeah, and that's not exactly the vibe you're going for," Nessa chimed in with a grin, leaning against the vanity. "Unless you're planning to walk down the aisle looking like a Picasso painting."

I tried to laugh, but it came out as a strangled sound. "I feel like I'm going to pass out," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

Tina, sitting cross-legged on the sofa, rolled her eyes affectionately. "Engfa, you're literally the coolest person we know. You've got this. Charlotte's probably just as nervous as you are."

"She's not wrong," Heidi added, walking over to hand me a glass of water. "You planned this entire wedding in a week, booked a whole lavender farm, and somehow managed to get outfits from Carolina Herrera and Tom Ford like it was nothing. If you can do all that, you can handle saying 'I do.'"

I took the water gratefully, my hands trembling as I lifted it to my lips. "What if I trip walking down the aisle?" I muttered. "What if I forget my vows? What if—"

"What if you're perfect, like you always are?" Nessa interrupted, her tone dry but affectionate. "Engfa, stop. You've got nothing to worry about. Everything is going to be amazing."

I sighed, putting the glass down and looking at my reflection in the mirror. My tailored suit fit me like a dream, the crisp white shirt underneath pristine, and the faint lavender pocket square matching the theme of the day. The jacket hugged my curves just right, and the subtle sheen of the fabric under the light made me look effortlessly polished. But all I could think about was Charlotte.

Would she think I looked good enough? Would she feel as proud to call me hers as I felt to call her mine? My mind drifted to her dress, the one I'd picked out knowing it would highlight her elegance and beauty. She'd look like a goddess—of that, I was certain. And me? I felt like I'd pale in comparison.

"You're doing it again," Patcha said, narrowing her eyes at me in the mirror. "Stop overthinking."

"I just want everything to be perfect," I confessed, my voice tight with emotion. "She deserves perfect."

"And she's getting it," Tina said, her voice steady. "She's getting you."

Those words hit me like a wave, and I felt a lump rise in my throat. They were right. This wasn't just about the setup, the outfits, or even the vows. This was about Charlotte. About us. About the fact that, after all the heartbreak and the years apart, we had found our way back to each other.

"Do you think she's nervous?" I asked, glancing at Nessa.

"She's probably pacing around somewhere, asking her dad and Marima if her hair looks okay for the fiftieth time," Nessa replied with a smirk. "Trust me, Charlotte's just as head over heels for you as you are for her."

I nodded, taking a deep breath to steady myself. "Okay," I whispered. "Okay."

"Now that's the Engfa we know," Patcha said, giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Come on, it's time to go make her Mrs. Waraha."