I met my best friend when we were both thirteen — an age when the world feels both unbearably heavy and painfully innocent. I had just moved to a new village after my parents' marriage collapsed in front of my eyes. Everything I knew, everything stable, had fractured. I arrived in that place with a suitcase full of clothes and a heart still bruised from the arguments I could hear through the walls at night.
That first week felt endless. I didn't know anyone. I felt like a stranger in my own life. But then I met her. Lara.
She was standing in the middle of a small group of kids, laughing at something someone had said. Her laugh was warm — the kind of sound that makes you feel included even before you speak. Somehow, without planning, without effort, we gravitated toward each other. From that moment forward, she slipped into my life as naturally as breathing.
Over the months that followed, she became more than a friend. She became the constant I desperately needed. We were together all the time — walking to school, staying up late talking, sharing secrets that felt too fragile for the rest of the world. With her, everything seemed possible. Simple. Safe. Almost perfect.
As we grew older and crossed into adolescence, life became louder and more complicated, as it always does. We experienced heartbreaks, disappointments, bitter arguments with our families, and moments when we felt like everything was falling apart. But no matter how messy life became, we had each other. And sometimes, that was enough.
Later on, another girl joined our tiny universe — Patti. She was different, but in a good way. Energetic, bold, a little mysterious. I had no idea she was attracted to girls, but when I eventually found out, it didn't change anything for me. People are people — that was all that mattered.
The three of us became a small trio. We'd go out for sodas, wander through the village, explore places that felt new simply because we were discovering them together. We laughed a lot. Maybe even too much for teenage girls who secretly carried so many cracks inside.
But then the shift began — small at first, almost invisible. Patti's glances toward me lingered a little too long. Her words grew softer, more intentional. Eventually, she confessed.
She had feelings for me.
I remember the moment so clearly — the confusion in her eyes, the hope, the fear. I told her the truth gently: I could never feel that way toward a girl. I cared about her, but not in that way. She seemed to understand. She said it was fine. And I believed her.
For a while, nothing appeared out of place. Nothing felt broken.
But that was just the surface.
One afternoon, I called Lara to make plans. No answer.
Strange — she always answered.
I called again. Still nothing.
So I called Patti, thinking maybe they were together or maybe one of them knew what was going on. No answer from her either.
A slow, uncomfortable feeling settled in my stomach, like something was shifting beneath my feet. But I forced myself to ignore it. Maybe they were busy. Maybe it was just a coincidence.
The next day, I met Patti by chance.
"Oh, yesterday?" she said casually, almost too casually. "Lara and I went out for a bit."
Without me.
The way she said it — light, dismissive, like it meant nothing — scratched something inside me. A strange ache I couldn't explain. But I told myself not to overreact. Friends hang out without each other all the time. Right?
But things didn't get better. They got colder.
Distant.
Sharp.
The two girls who used to light up when they saw me were suddenly full of shadows. Whispering between themselves. Sharing glances I couldn't decode. Leaving me out of conversations I didn't even know were happening.
Until finally, I couldn't take it anymore.
One afternoon, I confronted Lara. My voice trembled slightly, though I tried to hide it.
"What's going on with you and Patti? Is there something you need to tell me?"
She froze for a moment — then exhaled as if she had been waiting for this.
"Oh… I guess it's time you knew," she said quietly. "Patti and I… we're in a relationship."
The world went still.
I felt something inside me detach, float, and fall.
She kept talking, her voice strangely calm.
"I don't even know how she convinced me to try something like this — you know I've never been into girls. But yes… we've been spending time alone, a lot of time. And somewhere along the way… we fell for each other."
My mind emptied.
My hands went cold.
The girl who had been my safe place for years had built an entirely new world — one I had no place in.
All I could manage was a single word, barely whispered:
"Incredible."
And in that instant, everything between us changed forever.