She had no bouquet. No mother to adjust her hem. No father to bless her forehead.
Only herself.
Timba was already seated. His clothes were still modest, but cleaner than before. The old coat had been replaced with a plain dark tunic. His cane rested against his chair.
When Nia sat opposite him, he did not stare or smile too widely. He simply gave her one quiet look that said, I am here, and I am steady.
The pastor read quickly.
“Marriage is patience. Marriage is kindness. Marriage is faithfulness.”
Words everyone says.
Words few people honor.
Then came the vows.
“Timba Kato, do you take Nia Bansa to be your lawful wife?”
“I do,” he answered.
His voice did not tremble.
“Nia Bansa, do you take Timba Kato to be your lawful husband?”
The room held its breath.
Nia looked at Uncle Gideon and saw impatience. She looked at Aunt Sarah and saw relief. She looked at Deka and Reena and saw satisfaction.
Then she looked at Timba.
In his face, she saw something she had not seen in any of theirs.
Respect.
Not pity. Not performance. Respect.
“I do,” she said softly.
The pastor pronounced them husband and wife.
No one sang. No one cried with joy. No one sprayed money.
Aunt Sarah muttered, “At last.”
Uncle Gideon shook Timba’s hand like a man finalizing a delivery.
And that was all.
Nia’s old life ended with less celebration than a neighbor’s naming ceremony.
As she stepped outside, her heart beat wildly. She expected they would walk to the roadside and take a crowded minibus to whatever cramped room would now be her home.
Instead, at the edge of the compound, a dark silver car waited under the jacaranda tree.
Not flashy. Not decorated.
But expensive.
A driver in a crisp white shirt stepped out and opened the rear door.
“Good afternoon, sir,” he said to Timba with formal ease.
Then he turned to Nia.
