The one thing I thought would never change was my friendship with Tia and Maya. No matter who walked in or out of my life, he included, I was sure the bond we had was untouchable. We spent hours on video calls, laughing until our stomachs hurt, sharing every secret about parents, siblings, relatives, crushes—there were no walls between us.

I still remember once in class, Tia leaned toward me and whispered,

"Kriti, you know, we can never be enemies. We live too close to each other. How can we ever fight?"

I laughed, nodding, almost believing her words. Maybe she was right… But life had other plans.

It began on an ordinary evening, our parents clashed over something so small, it shouldn't have mattered. His father shouted at mine, fingers pointing, voices rising, neighbors gathering to see the commotion. My father shot back, raising his voice even higher. The fight lasted fifteen minutes before a distant relative finally intervened. Tia's mother insisted we go inside. But egos had walked into the room, and small conflicts, when fed with pride, become walls instead of bridges.

And Tia… she changed. She painted herself as the victim, twisting reality so I became the villain in her story. Years of laughter and shared memories crumbled under the weight of false narratives. I tried reaching out, again and again, but even when she responded, the relief was fleeting. The next day at school, her eyes darted away, refusing to meet mine. Her parents' words had become her chains.

Maya, caught in the middle, slowly broke under the pressure of losing two people she loved. One afternoon, she confided in me, voice trembling:

"You know… whenever you and Tia talked about your families, your houses, hanging out, I was always jealous. I wanted to be between you two, to feel your attention. But not like this… not at the cost of your friendship."

I hugged her tight, whispering, "This isn't your fault. It's life—ego, family, pressure. It ruins more than people realize."

By the time we reached ninth grade, life had shifted again. I made new friends—a girl I'd known since third grade and another who joined in eighth grade. Soon, we were a group of five. On the surface, Tia and I were still part of the circle. We sat together, walked together, and even pretended to laugh together. But behind that mask, there was silence. We never exchanged a word. Not one. The act wasn't for us—it was for the others, so they wouldn't feel torn apart by our broken bond.

Sometimes, Tia would poke at me indirectly by saying, " Some people break the trust like it was as thin as paper, I don't trust anyone now," little comments sharp enough to sting—but I let them slide. Maya's smile mattered more to me than pride or revenge.

One day, I tested her silently. "Maya," I asked softly, "if Tia and I fought again… whom would you choose?"

Her eyes froze. Within seconds, tears brimmed, and she didn't answer. Her silence said it all. And in that moment, I realized: I wasn't just a friend anymore. I felt… like a mother. A protector. Someone whose responsibility wasn't about pride or arguments, but about shielding the people I cared for.

That night, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling. My friendship with Tia—once unshakable—was now only a shadow. Maya's quiet heartbreak echoed in my mind, and I questioned everything: Had I done enough? Was I losing everything, one piece at a time?

And then, a whisper rose inside me, soft yet sharp: If friendships could fade so easily… what about him?

The thought chilled me. The bond I had fought for, prayed for, held onto even in silence—was it still there? Or had time stolen it, too?

I didn't know then that an answer was coming sooner than I expected.

And it would arrive in a way that would shake my entire world.