***
Amina's car rolled to a stop in front of No. 7, Usman Badu Drive at around 8pm. As she parked the car, she couldn't help but feel like a minnow in a pond of sharks, just waiting for the inevitable storm that was approaching.
Sitting in her car, she stared at the impressive facade of the house, wondering if she had accidentally stumbled onto the set of a reality show. It was a colossal building, much too big for any one person to own. It dwarfed all the surrounding houses, a clear display of power and wealth by the host of tonight's party.
"It's okay," she whispered to herself. "It'll be fast. Just go in and be done with it."
Her eyes inadvertently traveled down to the dress she was wearing. She had never worn it before, an ankle-length Boubou which featured intricate embroidery, delicate beadwork, and sequins that adorned the fabric, creating a subtle interplay of muted colors. The sleeves billowed gracefully, adding sophistication, while the modest neckline and matching jewellery suited her perfectly.
She eyed herself in the rearview mirror, contemplating the fabric that seemed to scream 'I belong at a black-tie event' while her heart whispered, 'I'd rather be in my pyjamas.'
Taking a deep breath, she muttered, "Well, here goes nothing."
With a reluctant sigh, Amina stepped out of her car, the chill of the evening air contrasting with the warmth of the imposing entrance. Her casual attire clashed with the sophistication of the surroundings, making her feel like an intruder in her own story.
As she approached the door, she hesitated, her hand hovering over the doorknob. She glanced down at her dress, pondering the absurdity of it all. The pulsing music from within made her heart jump, and she had half a mind to just turn around and leave.
But life had other plans, and just as she was about to turn away, a smartly dressed man stepped out in a crisp black suit.
"Welcome, Miss Mukhtar," he said with a curt bow. "Alhaji has been expecting you."
"Expecting me?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Of course," he replied. "You're the guest of honour, after all. Please, follow me."
With a resigned shrug, Amina followed him as they walked into the house. The grandeur of No. 7, Usman Badu Drive unfolded before her, a stark reminder of the world she was reluctantly stepping into. With every step, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was caught in a mismatched web of both awe and dread. She was curious to learn about the people she was going to be working with, but she also wanted to keep her distance. It was going to be an enormous task to try and navigate her way through all this, but the only way out was through.
They soon stepped into the lavish gathering, where the air was thick with animated conversations and the soft strains of background music. Alhaji Mustapha, a major shareholder in the company, emerged from the crowd with an extravagant flair. His agbada, meticulously embroidered, seemed to compete with the opulence of the surroundings. He was a tall and large man with broad shoulders and thick sideburns, grey hair all over his head and face. He smiled fondly at her, as if they had been friends for years.
"Ah, the woman of the hour herself! My dear, welcome to my humble abode. My heartfelt condolences on the passing of your father. May his soul rest in eternal peace," Alhaji Mustapha declared, his voice carrying the rehearsed cadence of social formality.
Amina, perceptive to the nuances of corporate dynamics, met his handshake with a polite smile. "Thank you, Alhaji Mustapha. I appreciate your condolences."
He leaned in conspiratorially, his eyes glinting with a calculated warmth. "Your father and I went way back. We were like brothers, you know. I can only imagine what a challenging time this must be for you."
YOU ARE READING
Lost In Paradise
Romance*** Only three things are certain in life: death, injustice and love. Umma had drilled this into Amina's head from the day she was born. One couldn't survive without the other. That was just the way of life. But everything changed when he came into...
