My parents live abroad, but before they left, they made sure I was comfortable. They left me a three-bedroom house and for the past two years, it’s just been me, myself, and the echo of my own footsteps. At first, it felt like a dream but after a while, it got boring. I used to wake up to total silence and wonder if I was living in a house or a museum.

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That’s when I thought, “Why not let my best friend Adwoa move in?” I thought it would be fun. We could cook together, binge-watch Netflix, and gossip like we used to back in Legon. But before I could call her to say, “Pack your things and come,” Philip happened.

Philip, the kind of man who could sell sand to a beach and make the beach say thank you. We met at a mutual friend’s event and before I knew it, we were inseparable. You know how relationships start. One minute you’re saying, “Let’s see how it goes,” and the next, everyone in your circle knows his name.

At first, he would visit once in a while. Weekend hangouts, sleepovers after late-night movies. Then small small, things started changing. He left a pair of slippers in my bathroom. The next week, it was a towel. Then his toothbrush found a permanent spot beside mine. I didn’t even realize what was happening until one day I opened my wardrobe and saw a whole row of his shirts staring back at me.

“Philip, why are your things here?” I asked.

He laughed and said, “So that I don’t have to bring anything next time I’m coming.”

Cute, right? Until “next time” became all the time.

Now, my once-silent house is full of Philip’s presence. His shoes by the door, his PlayStation beside my TV, his deodorant scent mixing with my air freshener. Sometimes I look around and wonder, when did this become our house?

Last week, he dropped the biggest surprise yet.

“Babe,” he said, “my rent is due next month, and I was thinking… since we’re going to marry anyway, why don’t I just move in with you?”

Just like that. We’ve been dating for only eight months. Eight months! I tried to laugh it off. “Philip, don’t you think it’s too early?”
He grinned and said, “Early? Babe, it’s destiny. We’ll save money, grow closer, and plan our future.”

But here’s the thing. I’m not sure I’m ready for that kind of closeness. I told him, “Even if you move in, we won’t share the same room until we marry.” He raised his eyebrow, smiled that mischievous smile, and said, “We’ll see.”

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And that’s exactly what worries me, the we’ll see. I’ve seen how these things go. A man moves in, calls you “my wife” for years, and then maybe make you a born one but when it comes to marriage, he begins to have cold feet.

So now I’m torn. Do I let him move in? Maybe I’m old-fashioned, but something in me says love should wait for a ring not a rent renewal. If you were me, would you let him move in?

—Rita

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