She walks with the confidence of someone who has it all – a proud stride, like a seasoned athlete treading the ground. The sunlight gracefully accentuates her figure, turning her into an enchanting sight. Anyone who crosses her path stops in their tracks to admire her beauty, or they continue on their way, often stealing a backward glance.

She’s a unique gem, a person with an undeniable charisma. There’s something extraordinary about her. Her parents, Aji and Dad, must be incredibly proud. All the teachers in the neighborhood and beyond are surely beneath her. She’s dressed in a white net dress and skirt, with a blue headpiece, adorned by a Dubai-designed Daham necklace. Her shoes sport blue spikes, and she carries a small blue bag, matched with a large blue net data cover as a scarf. If you see her, you might mistake her for the president’s daughter, not just a girl named “Iwa.”

As she walks, you can tell she’s waiting for someone. Her eyes frequently check her wristwatch. Her face radiates with makeup, as if she’s competing in a beauty pageant. When a car pulls up in front of her, she knows how to handle herself from a distance. She apologizes profusely, explaining that his wife was taken to the hospital, and he prevented her from being given the car keys.

“You can keep the keys to your car; I understand,” she says with grace, and he drives away. She sighs, almost changing her mind, murmuring about not knowing what it’s like outside today. She shakes her head and says, “Hajjaju, I’m sorry,” as she recalls the thousand debts she has.

She gets into the car, sitting down and gazing into the rearview mirror. She opens the glove compartment and grabs her air freshener. “Effesa,” she mutters, “that rascal really left a foul smell in the car.”

She fumbles for the key, but the car seems reluctant to start. It’s her phone that interrupts the moment, and it’s quite a large one.

“Oh, Bariki,” she mutters, “the embarrassment you’re causing me.” It’s a quarter past eight, and she quickly picks up, telling the caller to take care of themselves. She then asks, “Dan, why are we returning this thing?” But before she gets an answer, she ends the call.

The car isn’t starting, so she tries the CD player instead, playing a song by Ashique. She presses the accelerator and speeds off, reaching her destination in just 15 minutes – a hotel where they’ll be hosting a program.

As she attempts to park, chaos ensues. She steps out of the car, resembling someone at a women’s party. It’s far from over, as Zee starts a conversation, followed by Royal. They’ve summoned her alone, and they’re all friends. She can’t help but cry, and she takes a moment to collect herself. Her friends continue talking, and she listens closely.

It’s all too much for her. Her head feels like it’s going to explode, and it’s been a long time since she met her friends, but they’re all lying to her. She can’t stop crying, and she turns to her friend, Mai, who also sheds tears. They both exchange glances and wipe their eyes, understanding each other without words.

Everyone is looking at them. When they step outside, women start to keep their distance, and she prays to God to help them deal with Sara’s criticism. Her friends keep saying, “Bariki,” and she looks down, tapping the keys in her hand with a sense of unease. Inside, she takes a seat beside the bride and watches. She pays attention to the two people following her, her mind swirling with thoughts as she navigates this emotional whirlwind.

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