Friendship Break-Up

Losing a friend

It’s 1 AM as I write this. I should be practicing questions right now, but I saw something that reopened wounds I didn’t even know I had.

I don't know about you, but for me, friendship is serious. When I consider someone my friend, there's almost nothing I wouldn’t do for them. I’d defend them, get angry if someone made a joke at their expense, and be ready to fight any guy who broke their heart.

I had that with this one girl. Our friendship was special—we talked about everything, shared inside jokes, and had our own little traditions.

But then she did something that hurt me. The first time, I stayed quiet, thinking maybe I was overreacting. When it happened again, I warned her clearly that I didn’t like it and wouldn’t tolerate it if it happened again. She apologized and promised it wouldn’t happen again.

And then she did it again. So, I stopped talking to her.

She started apologizing, and like the people-pleaser I am, I forgave her. I went against my own words, my own decision.

And then she did it again.

That time, I blocked her everywhere. School had just ended, and we were both taking a drop year. I moved to a new place far from where we both used to live. I thought we’d never see each other again. She tried calling my mom’s number, so the next day, I called her. Because I’m not unfair—she deserved a chance to say her side.

Honestly, though, I only called because deep down, I wanted her to tell me to stay. I wanted her to tell me to shut up and listen. I wanted her to fight for me.

But she didn’t.

She asked why I blocked her. I said, "You don’t know?" She said, "No." I ended the call. She called again, and I picked up, hoping for some sign she cared. But she didn’t apologize—she just made excuses for what she’d done. She didn’t tell me I was wrong to end things over something so silly. She didn’t show any remorse. She didn’t fight.

I was so hurt. But I didn’t cry then because I told myself, Yeah, so what? I have zero friends. I was born without friends; I can live without them.

And I can live without friends. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want any.

Today, I saw a photo her mother posted—her dancing, enjoying herself. She looked so happy, so relaxed.

And the first thing that came to my mind was, Was she this relaxed when she did things she knew would hurt me? When she made excuses for hurting me? When she lost a friend?

That realization hit me like a truck.

This girl I used to talk to every day, whose smile and laughter used to keep me company—I haven’t spoken to her in ages, and she never reached out. I unblocked her eventually because on the last day of school, after our final board exam, she gifted me a set of oxidized bangles, and I gave her a letter.

In that letter, I wrote, No matter how mad I am, you can always come to me if your thoughts start wandering and you feel so stifled that you might make a terrible decision.

I still stand by that. If she called me at 3 AM on the verge of ending her life, I would try to calm her down.

But it just hurts. It hurts so much. I want to bawl my eyes out, but I hold back because I don’t think she’s shed a single tear over me.

I’m not mourning her. I’m mourning the friendship. I’m mourning the version of myself that believed I had someone standing behind me, always. The version of me that felt whole and secure knowing I had a best friend. I’m disappointed in myself because, in my eighteen years of life, I don’t have one person I can call a friend and truly feel it.

Was I really so unimportant that my presence or absence makes no difference?

We knew each other for five years. Five years of friendship wasted because I needed her to fight for me, and she was too proud to do so. When I said, "Aisi dosti jahan meri baaton ko nazarandaz kiya jaye, mujhse nahi chal payegi," she simply replied, "Okay, thik hai."

She knew she was disregarding me, and she planned to keep doing it.

I haven’t experienced what a breakup feels like, but this—this hurts.

It’s a pain that hits at the most random times.

When I visit places we used to go after exams.

When my mom refers to her as "tumhari saheli."

When I see something funny and know she’d have laughed at it too.

When I see people my age hanging out with their friends.

It hurts so much.

Friendship breakups aren’t talked about enough.

I told myself I wouldn’t cry, but a few tears slipped out.

I hate her. God, I hate her for making me feel like this.

And now I realize there were so many red flags I ignored, thinking they weren’t a big deal.

She had at least seven other friends. I had only her. Those friends bitched about me to her. She’d tell me what they said, which means they felt comfortable saying bad things about me to her—to my best friend. There’s no one who could have dared say anything bad about her to me.

She hid things from me. Like during the annual function, when the school said they’d arrange makeup artists. I asked her if I should buy some makeup just in case the artist was too busy. She said no. "I’m not buying anything, so you don’t either. The school will bring good artists, I know."

The next day, she showed up with a whole makeup kit. She said her mom told her to bring it. I stood beside her, waiting for her to finish using her products because, as I suspected, the artist was too busy.

On Teacher’s Day, I wore a saree. I asked her if she was wearing any jewelry or makeup because I’m socially awkward and need guidance with these things. She said no, not much. So, I just wore some nude lipstick, foundation, kajal, a bindi—basic stuff. The next morning, she turned up with her eyes done, mascara, eyeliner, blush, bangles—the whole thing.

These are just a few examples. She always made it seem like she wasn’t interested, but then she’d show up over-prepared the next day.

Except for studies. That’s the one place I always beat her without hiding my efforts, and I think she didn’t like it. I was the school topper this year, and my photo was put on the school banner. I told her about it, and all she said was, "Yeah, I saw." No congratulations, no “well done.” She sounded envious, even over text.

On Teacher’s Day, I won a gift for being the best-dressed teacher. She looked disappointed then too. I’m glad I didn’t wear makeup that day like her.

So yeah, there were many times she did things that hurt me, but I brushed them off thinking, We’re human, we all make mistakes.

Kya manga tha humne yaar? Bas ek saccha dost jo meri bhi utni hi kadar kare jitni hum uski karte hain. I don't think I asked for too much. But apparently I did.

I will never make friends again.

Life fucking sucks.