That day, shame clung to me like a shadow. I left school quietly, but the whispers trailed behind me like echoes I couldn't silence.
Two girls walked ahead, and their words stung my ears.
Girl One: "If you see the way he said she was shaking."
Girl Two: "Don't mind her. Na the love for money dey push her. I don't even know what's chasing her."
Girl One: "You know her parents were too poor. When last did you see her hawking? Go and check their house. The man is rebuilding it, and can't you see the way she's glowing?"
Girl Two: "But they said he's controlling. Don't you think she'll suffer in that marriage?"
Girl One: "Well… we should just wish her well. She's not too young for marriage. Some girls get pregnant before 18. At least she's doing it the 'right way.' Besides, the guy is handsome."
Girl Two: "Yes, I saw him. He's not old at all. They said he just returned from abroad. Who knows—maybe Dele exaggerated. At least she's not marrying an old man."
Girl One: "I hope so. But why doesn't she want to invite anybody? She acts shy, like someone being forced."
Girl Two: "It's just an engagement, nah. It's not compulsory to invite people."
I sighed deeply as I walked past them, pretending not to hear. Their words pricked my heart, but I told myself to stop listening to people and focus on my own life. Silently, I prayed—God, please let Bolaji be a good man.
Finally, WAEC ended. Writing that last paper felt like dropping a heavy load. I was relieved, though my mind still wrestled with everything ahead.
Then came the day of the introduction.
I was shocked at how grand it turned out. My parents cooked small food, thinking it would be a quiet occasion. But Bolaji arrived with a crowd—over fifty people. He came with plenty of food, drinks, and even hired cooks and servers. My parents didn't even bother bringing out their own food again.
The whole neighborhood trooped in, eating and celebrating. Souvenirs were shared, music filled the air, and for a moment, I felt like I was at a wedding. Not an introduction—an actual wedding.
When night finally came and the crowd began to leave, I expected Bolaji and his family to go as well. But something strange happened.
I saw him carrying back the boxes of gifts he had brought for me, loading them into his car. My heart skipped. Confused, I turned to my parents.
Sarah: "Why is he taking the boxes back?"
My parents exchanged glances before speaking.
Mum/Dad: "You're following him home."
I froze. "What?"
Just then, Bolaji appeared at the door, his eyes on me.
Bolaji: "Let's go home."
My breath caught in my throat. I turned, hoping my parents would defend me, but they only looked away. Bolaji stood there, waiting.
And at that moment, my world tilted.
To be continued…