Borrowed Cloth, Stolen Peace

My name is Amara, and this is the story that taught me that betrayal does not always come from enemies. Sometimes, it sleeps beside you, laughs with you, and calls you “best friend.”

Lola and I had been friends for seven years. We met in secondary school and grew together into adulthood. People used to say we were inseparable. We shared secrets, dreams, pains, and even clothes. Lola had always admired my dressing. Whenever I bought something new, she would joke, “This one will soon enter my wardrobe.” I never minded. Sharing with her felt natural.

One Friday afternoon, I wore a beautiful wine‑colored dress to a small event. It fit me perfectly, and people complimented me endlessly. Lola kept staring at it, touching the fabric, smiling in a way I didn’t understand at the time. Before we parted ways that evening, she asked, “Can I borrow the dress for a few days? I have somewhere to attend.” Without thinking twice, I agreed. After all, she was my best friend.

Days passed. She didn’t return the dress. I reminded her gently, and she laughed it off, saying she’d bring it soon. That was when strange things began to happen.

I started having disturbing dreams. In them, I was always running, but my legs felt heavy. I would wake up tired, sweating, my heart racing. During the day, my body felt weak. I lost my appetite. Opportunities I had waited months for suddenly collapsed without explanation. At work, my boss began to misunderstand me. Friends started avoiding me for no clear reason.

Then my skin broke out in strange rashes, and my mirror reflection looked unfamiliar, like something in me was slowly fading.

One night, my aunt visited me and watched me closely. After a long silence, she said quietly, “Amara, has anyone taken something personal from you recently? Your hair, your cloth, anything close to your body?”

My heart skipped. The dress.

Fear crept into my bones, but I tried to dismiss it. Lola would never hurt me. Never.

Still, unease pushed me to investigate. I went to Lola’s house unannounced. She wasn’t home, but her younger brother was. While waiting, I noticed the dress was not there. When I asked him about it, he hesitated, then said, “Aunty Lola took it to one old man at the other side of town. She said it was important.”

The ground beneath me felt like it opened.

I confronted Lola that evening. At first, she denied everything. She laughed, accused me of being dramatic. But when I mentioned the herbalist, her face changed. Her voice shook. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she fell to her knees.

She confessed.

Jealousy had eaten her slowly. She said she felt invisible beside me my progress, my peace, the way people favored me. When she heard about a herbalist who could “slow someone down” using personal items, she gave in to the darkness in her heart. She took my dress, the one soaked with my sweat and energy, and handed it over.

“I didn’t mean to destroy you,” she cried. “I just wanted to be ahead for once.”

Pain cut deeper than anger. This was not a stranger. This was the person I trusted with my life.

With my aunt’s help, I retrieved the cloth and sought spiritual cleansing. It wasn’t instant, but slowly, the fog lifted. My strength returned. My dreams became peaceful again. Opportunities found their way back to me. The damage stopped but the scar remained.

I forgave Lola, but forgiveness did not mean access. I walked away.

Today, I am wiser. I no longer share everything, especially with people who secretly compete with me. I learned that not everyone who hugs you wishes you well. Some people smile while digging pits.

This story is my warning: be careful who touches what carries your essence. Because sometimes, evil doesn’t knock loudly it borrows your clothes and walks quietly into your life.