Broken heart ❤️‍🩹

I briskly got into the small hall where the wedding ceremony was taking place. It had rained a little, making the traffic worse than usual. I should have stayed at home, but alas, I had already promised to be here.
I couldn’t help but notice Yemisi’s makeup—unusually heavy, not like the simple look I had always known her for. The way she walked as the choir gave a perfect rendition of the hymn To God Be the Glory made it seem like her face was weighed down.

Yemisi and her husband looked like the perfect couple, and everything about this day seemed perfect—except for one thing. I should have been the one walking Yemisi out of the hall, by her side, dressed in a floral-colored suit. Instead, here I was, a little wet from the rain, single, holding the program booklet of my once-sweetheart, wishing the ground could open up and swallow me.
I met Yemisi six years ago. We had both just finished NYSC and, with the zeal of having served the nation, decided to write the civil service examination. It was an exam I had been strongly coerced into by my father. As a top director in the ministry and a popular figure among government workers, he believed it was the best path for me. I, however, had my reservations.

First, I felt starting a 9-to-5 job at that stage of my life would kill my dreams. I wouldn’t have time for other things, and I feared becoming dependent on the meager salary. Secondly, my dad’s constant complaints about unpaid remunerations made the idea feel like a lost cause. But at that point in my life, I couldn’t afford not to try something—anything—that would keep me from staying idle at home.
On the day of the exam, I met Yemisi at a cyber café close to the venue. I had gone to photocopy a document when I saw her, and the world immediately came to a standstill. I could feel all the hair on my body stand on end. It was a sensational feeling. What fascinated me about her were her sparkling eyes—so white they seemed untouched by evil, pain, or hurt.

After I finished my task, I rushed out to catch up with her as she walked ahead. “Hey!” I called out. She turned back, squinted at me, and said, “Good afternoon.” I hesitated for a moment, catching my breath and using the chance to take in her full glory.
We started talking and found ourselves chatting about school as we walked to the examination hall. We were in Batch 2, so we had time to spare. We also agreed it was too late to read anything before the exam. One thing we shared in common was our dislike for 9-to-5 jobs, which we both had to consider because of family pressure and circumstances.

Time flew by as we waited for the results, and in that period, I used the opportunity to get closer to her. We chatted almost every day when we weren’t busy. At first, I tried not to appear jobless, but over time, I got comfortable with her. From our conversations, I learned that she had suffered heartbreak three years ago from a two-year relationship, loved swimming and baking cakes, and was an introvert who attended church regularly, serving as a hostess.

When the results were finally released, we were both employed as Admin Officers. It was a nice start. Initially, we walked to each other’s offices to check in. Then we started having lunch together, which became a cute habit. We did a lot of things together, and it felt perfect. Her house gradually became my second home. After work, we would head there, and she would cook for me.
It was one of those evenings, after we had eaten a slightly peppery jollof spaghetti, that I professed my love for her. She had just returned from the kitchen after putting the plates away. I held her hands and said simply, “I love you.” She smiled a little and replied, “Do you know how long I’ve waited for you to say this?”

When we started dating, it wasn’t entirely new for us; we just intensified our communication, conversations, romance, and love. Since I still lived with my parents, we made her small place our haven. It was lovely. Sometimes, she followed me to my church; other times, I went to hers.
This went on for about nine months—until the worst happened.
It was a weekend when Yemisi called and said she wanted to discuss something serious and that we should meet on Sunday evening. I was worried and disturbed. It was unlike her to keep suspense when it came to serious matters in our relationship. But I knew better than to push; there had to be a reason.

Sunday evening came, and I bought flowers to win her favor, just in case I had done something wrong. I also got her favorite plantain chips from a nearby supermarket. When I got to her place, I could hear Minister Theophilus Sunday’s worship music playing from inside. I knocked, and in no time, she opened the door.
After some time, she broke the news to me: “I can’t marry you.”

It felt as though the ground should open up and swallow me. I was confused and managed to mutter, “Why?”
She told me her mother had a dream about her, one that left her unsettled. She had gone to meet her pastor, who told her we weren’t compatible. Since she couldn’t go against her spiritual father’s words or her mother’s wishes, she felt it was only proper to end the relationship.
In that moment, my body took hits I couldn’t describe. I couldn’t tear myself apart; I just went silent. I couldn’t even look into her eyes. But deep down, I understood her point.
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