TUNDE’S P.O.V:
I did not sleep properly the night before my wedding.
Not because I had doubts. That would have been easier to explain. Doubt had a shape. A question. A problem to solve.
This was something else.
Anticipation, perhaps.
Responsibility.
Joy with weight inside it.
At 4:17 a.m, I was still awake staring at the ceiling while my phone sat face down beside me because Seyi had sent seventeen messages to the groomsmen group chat between midnight and two-thirty.
Most of them were useless.
One was a picture of an agbada he wanted to wear to the after-party, even though there was no after-party.
Another was:
Seyi: Last chance to run.
Kunle replied:
Kunle: Please don’t encourage him.
Folarin:
Flo: He has already paid vendors. Running now is financially irresponsible.
I had stared at that one for a full minute.
Then:
Me: All of you sleep.
Seyi responded immediately.
Seyi: Groom is awake o.
I muted the group.
That had been at 1:14 a.m.
Three hours later, I was still awake.
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