Scandalous Engagement✅(PREVIEW).

02|Second Impression?

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02|Second Impression.

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Flaunting my new pumps on social media came naturally to me; it was a familiar routine. Once I put my phone down, I sunk into my yoga session. With my eyes closed and music pulsing through my headphones, I lost myself in the flow of poses, feeling every stretch and release until it was time to rise.

Glancing at my WhatsApp, I noticed "My Girl" pop up on my contacts. His status updates appeared, a clear sign he had saved my number, likely to block me before I could intrude on his peace.

Does he think I'm trying to con him?

Pfft.

My fingers itched to tap on his contact, to glimpse whatever might explain my foul mood from yesterday. But pride held me back. I couldn't let him think I was stalking him. Absolutely not! I reminded myself to delete his contact as soon as I finished my "chores."

I skipped to my bedside drawer, pulling out the diary I'd started yesterday, filled with excitement over my best friend's number.

What a waste of energy.

Now, the pages would hold something entirely different.

After my yoga, my routine dictated a hot shower followed by a refreshing salad. Not that I could pretend I was skinny, far from it. Once I was scrubbed and polished, I tossed on a loose chiffon top, paired it with dark mom jeans, and slipped into one of my favorite flats. I topped off my look with a silk headwrap, feeling complete.

I packed my phone, earpiece, lip gloss, and wallet into my bag before stepping out to inform Daddy I was heading out.

He loathed it when I left without his knowledge even if he never openly showed it. To him, it was reckless, and he insists on ensuring that someone was always watching my back. Growing up as the daughter of a prominent man came with its own set of precautions. One I didn't particularly favour.

"Daddy, I'm going out!" I exclaimed, bursting into his study, a sanctuary for him amidst his busy life.

"Where to?" he asked, barely looking up from his paperwork.

"Just to have some fun. I'm bored, I'm taking the keys to the Chevrolet."

"Alright, drive safely."

"Always." With that, I strolled to the garage, where my beloved ash-painted 2022 Chevrolet Cruze awaited me.

Now, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Maryam Amirah Adamu Bawa, but most people know me as Amirah Bawa. Many don't even know my full name. My dad is the governor of Bauchi State, Nigeria, His Excellency Alhaji Adamu Bawa. My mother, Dr. Nafisah Hamza, is the daughter of the renowned Emir of Katagum, His Royal Highness Muhammad Hamza. I graduated from Université Jean Monnet in Saint Etienne, France, where I studied Interior Design.

As an only child, I've never lacked for anything. This has molded me into a classic spoiled brat. I've never been scolded, shouted at, or touched by anyone and that's just how our household operates. Nobody lays a finger on Daddy's girl, Amirah. Named after both my grandmothers, I have received endless pampering from both sides. Yes, I admit I am a snob, choosing to befriend only the elite, the ones I consider worthy.

Security accompanies me whenever I leave the house. It used to irritate me, but I've learned to accept it. Daddy insists it's for my safety.

As I zoomed through the streets, Pitbull's "Por Favor" blared from my speakers, energizing me for the visit to my friend's new home, she had recently gotten married.

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"Amiraah, welcome! You didn't tell me you were coming!" Afrah exclaimed, pulling me into a warm hug. She had married a senator, old enough to be her father, but who cares? Life is about living richly, comfortably, and fully, right?

She led me to her room, where we settled in and began to gossip. I had met Afrah at a friend's wedding, and we clicked instantly. She is the daughter of a former FCT Minister from this very state.

We exchanged phones and scrolled through various apps, laughter dancing in the air until a loud gasp escaped her lips, echoing off the walls.

"I'm married, but where did you find this hottie?" she asked, fanning herself dramatically.

"What hottie? I have no idea what you're talking about," I replied, craning my neck to catch a glimpse of her screen.

A photo flashed before my eyes, causing my breath to catch momentarily. Where did I get this fine specimen? My heart sank as I zoomed in on the contact name: "My Girl." I was dead.

Someone should just put me out of my misery. Daddy certainly wouldn't lift a finger to help."Why 'My Girl' and not 'My Man?'" She teased, smirking and wiggling her eyebrows mischievously.

"Afrah!" I exclaimed, a hand flying to my forehead in despair. "Oh Lord, you've killed me. Now he'll think I had something to do with that! I'm so done!"

"So who is he?" she pressed, leaning in closer, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"If Salman drops dead, I'll lunge at him without a second thought." Salman was her husband, by the way.

"No way. This guy's an arrogant asshat. I doubt that's even his picture. Besides, he might be married or something along those lines," I huffed, rolling my eyes in irritation.

"And? So what if he's married? By Allah, if I weren't married, I wouldn't think twice about making him mine!" She declared, clicking her tongue.

This was my wild friend, dressed in an outfit strikingly similar to mine. I glared at her, rising to my feet. I had nothing else to discuss."Amirah, don't leave yet! Let me get you something to eat," she offered, but I declined, without a hint of politeness. She had caused enough chaos for one day to be easily forgiven.

As I walked away from her house, I contemplated whether or not to tell that man I wasn't the one who viewed his status. But that would also mean starting a conversation. The sensible side of me pointed that out.

Well, that settles it. I'm definitely not going to say anything.

One thing about me is my love for nature. I often stop at various places to capture its beauty, and I never fail to share those moments on social media.

About four hours later, I lay tossing and turning in bed, the image of that arrogant jerk clouding my thoughts. I rarely obsess over anything like this, so I needed answers. What was happening to me? He had come across as a narcissistic dimwit, so why did that picture stir something different within me? His voice did sound mature, like that of a man in his thirties or forties. But was that really him?I felt like I was losing my sanity. Does this mean second impressions exist and matter? I truly hope they don't.

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Assalamu alaikum wa rahmatullah wa baratuh. How are we?

We're good? Masha Allah.

Kindly.
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