My shirt went missing mysteriously. I knew the last time I’d washed it and knew where I put it after folding it. It was supposed to be in my drawer, but on a Sunday night, when I was looking for it to iron for work, the shirt was nowhere to be found. It was the only shirt that fit a certain black trouser I was fond of.

FOLLOW US ON WHATSAPP CHANNEL TO RECEIVE ALL STORIES IN YOUR INBOX

I searched through all my things, hoping I had mistakenly placed it where I shouldn’t have. Then I called Abena, my girlfriend, asking if she had seen my shirt anywhere. “You called me this late to ask about a shirt?” she asked me. “Is that the only shirt you have in this world?”

Of course she could ask me that question because she didn’t know how much that shirt meant to me. For a whole week, I looked for this shirt, turning my room upside down, but it was gone. Eventually, Abena said someone might have taken it off the line after it was washed, and I didn’t notice.

That was the only explanation that made sense, but it didn’t stop me from looking through things once in a while to see if, by some stretch of a miracle, the shirt had appeared there.

One evening, in Abena’s room, my phone accidentally slipped through the side of the bed and fell under it. I had to pull the bed and look for my phone. Among the dirt and grime I found under the bed, there was this white polythene bag that looked like it was hiding from the owner. It had been tied neatly and laid in a way that looked intentional.

“What is this bag doing here among the dirt?” I asked myself. I felt it at first and thought there was cloth inside. I shook it for the dirt to come off and placed it on the floor beside the bed. Abena was outside. I was putting it there for her to notice it.

While trying to place the bed back in its original position, I accidentally stepped on the bag and slipped. When I picked it up again, I opened it to see what was inside, just in case I had spoilt something. I opened it, and it was my shirt that had gone missing mysteriously.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. I took it out, spread it, and took it outside to look at it in natural light. What caught my attention was also the fragrance that came out of it. It smelled divine, like a fragrance from the church. And then I saw traces of something that looked like candle wax.

Immediately she stepped into her room, it was my shirt she saw. She looked at me, and I looked back at her. “That’s my shirt. There’s candle wax and also a strange fragrance. What’s going on?”

She stood frozen for a while before she said, “Yeah, I took it. I wanted to have a piece of you with me. That’s all. Don’t take it wrongly.”

“A piece of me with candle wax and strange fragrance? What is going on here?”

For several minutes, she kept repeating that I shouldn’t take it wrongly. She was fidgeting and looking around as if what she wanted to say would appear on the wall for her to read to me. “Have you taken me to a juju man? Do you want to end my life?”

She smiled and asked why she would do that to me, her boyfriend. I needed answers, and I wasn’t going to leave until she gave what sounded like the truth. Finally, she told me, “I gave it to my prophet. He prayed over it for marriage.”

We had dated for two years. The only reason I hadn’t married her was because of time. My life wasn’t in a place where you add a woman permanently to the equation. So anytime she asked about it, I asked her to give me some time to be able to rent a good place, save something substantial, and later think about all that.

She thought I was lying. She had dated another man for four years, and it didn’t go anywhere. I found her after that breakup, and she was so eager to see direction. I gave her assurances, not only with words but also through actions. I took her to meet my parents, and I met hers so they would bear witness to what we had. She invited me to her church, and after service, I met the prophet. He prayed for us that day and also told me it was God’s plan for the two of us to marry.

I could understand her need to know when. I could also understand her need for better assurances. I never got angry when she talked about marriage. I never, for once, did anything intentionally to suggest I would leave her. She had tasked my mom to worry me about marriage, and my mom had delivered exceptionally well. But you can’t make a man ready when he’s not ready, so all I asked for was time.

“So you mean your pastor burned a candle on my shirt? For what? And what about the strange scent?” She said everything the prophet did was what God showed him to do. It was also to protect my life.

I got angry and left with my shirt. She called several times, and I didn’t pick. That night when I slept, I had a dream and saw us getting married. It was a big wedding, but before I could say “I do,” a strange man appeared out of nowhere and stabbed me from the back. I thought it was just a dream, happening because of everything we’d been through, but the dream came again and again in different forms. Sometimes I died, and sometimes I escaped—all within a week that our relationship had become shaky because of what I’d found.

She spoke to my mom about the whole issue, and my mom called me on the phone. She said, “Marry her, and all this wouldn’t happen. It’s a man of God she took you to, so why are you behaving like she took you to a shrine?” I told my mom about the dreams, and she said I was making up excuses.

Finally, I went to her place to see her so we could talk about everything and what I wanted. I told her I needed space to think about my life and what needed to be done, and during that time, I didn’t want to see her or be around her. “I want a perfect lone moment to consider my life and where to take it.”

She understood me, but a few days later, she called to tell me her prophet wanted to see me. I told her to tell him I wasn’t going to meet him, so he should leave me alone. She hasn’t called again.

I’ve been thinking deeply about the whole issue. Sometimes I feel like I’m blowing things out of proportion, and as my mom said, it’s a man of God she took me to because she means well. Other times, I just want to disappear from her life and start all over again. We are not married, and she’s carrying my personal effects to prophets. What else is she capable of doing? Let the prophet decide when we should have sex?

Dating A Narcissist: Lessons From Heartbreak And Abuse

Everything aside, she’s a good woman who thinks she doesn’t have too much time to waste. For two years, we’ve had our fights and misunderstandings, but nothing big enough to make me doubt her devotion and love for this relationship. I’m asking, would you go ahead and marry such a lady?

Yes, I’m not ready, but it wouldn’t be too long. If I were your brother and you heard my story, would you still advise me to marry her?

—Ato

This story you just read was sent to us by someone just like you. We know you have a story too. Email it to us at [email protected]. You can also drop your number and we will call you so you tell us your story.

******