Tunde Balogun woke up before his alarm rang.
For a few seconds, he lay still, staring at the ceiling, his mind already racing ahead of the day. The room was quiet, almost too quiet, and it made everything feel heavier than it should.
Today was his wedding day.
He exhaled slowly and sat up, resting his elbows on his knees as he rubbed his face with both hands. He had imagined this moment so many times—standing at the altar, watching Zara walk toward him, seeing that smile on her face.
It was supposed to feel exciting.
Instead, it felt like pressure sitting firmly on his chest.
A loud knock suddenly hit the door.
"Tunde! Open up!"
He straightened slightly, then stood up and walked toward the door, unlocking it.
The moment it opened, his groomsmen pushed their way inside, bringing noise, laughter, and energy with them.
"Ah! The groom is awake!"
"You think say you fit run?"
"Today you must marry, no escape!"
They laughed loudly, moving around the room like they owned it, dropping bags, adjusting their clothes, picking up things without asking.
Tunde forced a smile, stepping aside to let them in.
"I'm not running anywhere," he said.
"You sure?" one of them teased. "Because once you enter that hall, your life don change oh."
Another one added, "After today, no more freedom!"
The room filled with laughter again.
Tunde chuckled lightly, but his mind wasn't fully with them.
He walked back toward the bed and sat down again, watching them move around.
"Come, come, sit properly," one of them said, dragging a chair toward the mirror. "You need to look sharp. Bride is from abroad, you can't disgrace us."
Tunde stood and moved toward the chair without arguing.
As he sat down, the stylist entered, already carrying his tools.
"Good morning, sir," the man greeted respectfully. "We don't have much time."
Tunde nodded. "Go ahead."
The stylist immediately got to work, adjusting his hair, brushing, trimming slightly, making sure everything was perfect.
Behind him, his friends kept talking.
"See this wedding eh, money don go."
"I heard the bride's parents flew in days ago."
"Of course now, you think it's small wedding?"
"Abroad bride," someone added. "International standard."
Tunde kept his eyes on his reflection.
Zara.
Just hearing her name in his head softened something in him.
She was worth it.
Everything about her was worth it.
"Guy," one of his friends said, leaning against the wall. "You really try. That girl fine."
Tunde smirked slightly. "I know."
"But she quiet sha," another added. "Not like our Nigerian girls."
"Na because she grow abroad," someone replied. "Different lifestyle."
"Hope she go fit adjust," another voice said casually.
Tunde's jaw tightened just slightly.
"She'll be fine," he said.
No one pushed further, but the tone in the room shifted for a brief moment before the jokes returned.
His phone buzzed on the table.
Tunde's eyes moved instantly toward it.
"Ah-ah," one of his friends noticed. "Who is disturbing you this early?"
"Maybe bride?" another teased.
Tunde stood up and walked toward the table, picking up the phone.
He glanced at the screen.
For a split second, his expression changed.
Then he locked it and placed it back down.
"No one important," he said.
"Hmm," one of them hummed, clearly not convinced.
"Focus on your wedding, not phone," another added jokingly.
Tunde nodded, though his mind had already shifted.
Something felt off.
He couldn't explain it.
But he could feel it.
"Stand up," the stylist instructed.
Tunde turned back and stood in front of the mirror.
His suit was brought forward—clean, sharp, perfectly tailored.
Piece by piece, they dressed him.
The white jacket fit him like it was made specifically for this moment. The black bow tie sat perfectly against his collar. Every detail was checked, adjusted, perfected.
"Turn," the stylist said.
Tunde turned slowly.
"Excellent," the man said with satisfaction.
His friends clapped immediately.
"Ah! See groom!"
"This one na billionaire wedding oh!"
"Zara go faint when she see you!"
Tunde laughed softly, shaking his head.
"Abeg," he muttered.
But deep down, he hoped she would smile.
That smile mattered more than anything else today.
He stepped closer to the mirror again.
This time, he looked at himself properly.
Everything was in place.
Everything looked right.
But something still felt unsettled inside him.
"Guy," one of his friends said, stepping beside him. "You're lucky."
Tunde glanced at him. "How?"
"That kind woman no dey common," he replied. "She calm, she respectful… and she loves you."
Tunde's expression softened.
"I know," he said quietly.
"Just don't mess it up," the friend added, half joking, half serious.
Tunde looked back at his reflection.
"I won't."
His voice was steady.
But something about the moment lingered.
A strange tension.
Like everything was balanced too perfectly.
And anything could disrupt it.
Outside, faint sounds began to filter into the room.
Music.
Voices.
Movement.
The wedding had already started building.
Guests arriving.
Energy rising.
There was no stopping it now.
One of his friends checked his watch.
"We need to start moving soon," he said.
"Yeah," another agreed. "Bride will soon enter."
Tunde adjusted his cufflinks slowly, taking his time.
He inhaled deeply, then exhaled.
This was it.
No more delays.
No more thinking.
Just action.
"Let's go," he said finally.
His friends immediately responded, grabbing their things, straightening their outfits, hyping themselves up again.
As they moved toward the door, the noise returned—laughter, jokes, excitement.
But Tunde paused for just a second.
His hand resting lightly against the door.
His thoughts flickering briefly.
Then he straightened.
Opened the door.
And stepped out.
Into a day that had already begun without him.