Table of Contents
Abandonment Starts Early
Pear was eight when she learned that friendships could end without a reason.
They were playing Simon Says in the courtyard, a game of quick reflexes and blind obedience. One girl played Simon, the others followed.
“Simon says, stand on one leg.”
“Simon says, touch your toes.”
“Simon says, spin in a circle.”
The heat clung to their skin. The air smelled of wet mud and warm sweat.
Pear didn’t feel like playing anymore. She wasn’t tired. She wasn’t bored. She just wanted to go upstairs and eat chocolate Boost powder, the kind that melted thick and grainy in her mouth.
“I have to pee,” she lied.
They nodded, distracted. She ran up, took a spoonful, let the powder coat her tongue. It was a small indulgence, a harmless detour.
When she came back, everything had changed.
They weren’t playing anymore, at least not with her.
She walked up to them, smiling, ready to jump back in, but their faces remained blank.
“What’s the next round?” she asked.
Silence.
One of the girls laughed, whispered something to another, but it wasn’t at Pear. It was about everything except her.
A void had formed in the space she left, and somehow, she was no longer part of it.
Pear sat on the cold granite platform, swinging her legs, trying to make sense of it. What had she done?
An uncle passed by, saw her crying.
“What happened?” he asked.
She didn’t answer.
What could she say?
That she had been part of something, and then she wasn’t? That she had left for a moment, and in that moment, they had erased her?
She went home that evening, carrying a lesson she did not have words for.
A year later, she left the city. But that feeling never left her.
A New City, But the Same Loneliness
The new city didn’t feel like home.
Even though the language was her mother tongue, it felt like someone else’s tongue—twisted, foreign, slipping between her fingers every time she tried to hold onto it.
The school was worse.
Here, boys and girls sat apart.
There were unspoken rules.
Hissing sounds.
Sharp glances if the wrong boundaries were crossed.
She made friends. Then, she chose the wrong ones.
One girl traded her for a boy in seconds.
Pear wasn’t surprised.
By now, she had learned what it felt like to be replaced.
Patterns Are Hard to Break
He was her closest friend. The kind of friendship that felt effortless, like breathing in silence and still being heard.
Pear fell in love with him.
But he was gay.
She never told him, because she knew better.
She told herself it didn’t matter, because love, even unspoken, should be enough.
But love—even the quiet kind—comes with expectations.
She expected him to check in. To care. To meet her halfway.
She told him he hurt her.
He told her, “You need to be babied.”
That wasn’t what hurt her.
He said, “You don’t even talk. You just do whatever you do at home, around me. You’d rather stay home alone and do that alone.”
That’s what broke her.
Because the first time they met, they walked in silence.
And it had meant something.
Or at least, Pear thought it did.
How Do You Measure a Friendship?
There was another friend.
Pear had known her since 2011.
Their first meeting was warm, easy. They exchanged numbers in the cutest way possible.
She was still here. Through everything.
But Pear fought with her. Often.
Maybe it was a pattern. Maybe she pushed people away before they could walk away first.
This friend had someone now. A boyfriend.
Pear felt it creeping in again—that feeling of being replaced.
The friend did things for him.
He did things for her.
And Pear?
She sent her dessert when she was sad.
Brought her little gifts.
Stayed up late, listening, being there.
But the friend never did the same. The friend offered a couple times to do something nice, but she never just – did. Pear didn’t ask permission to surprise, she just would.
But, maybe friendship wasn’t about keeping score. As it shouldn’t be. Pear thought.
But Pear couldn’t shake the feeling that she had spent years giving, and no one had ever really given back.
The Ghosts of Friendships Past
Some friendships don’t end in fights.
They fade into silence.
There was another girl.
They had been inseparable. For three years.
Pear was at her place more than her own.
She was at Pear’s more than her own.
But the truth?
Pear had hated those years.
Her friend dragged her into fights that weren’t hers. Made her stay in rooms with people who betrayed her.
She ran after toxic people. And Pear ran after her.
Twelve years later, she finally let go.
She wrote her an email.
Not for closure.
Not for an apology.
Just to get it out of her system.
“You took advantage of me.”
“You made me stay in rooms with people who hurt me.”
“You let me believe I was your equal, but I was only ever convenient to you.”
And yet.
And yet.
She still wished her well.
The Rules Have Changed
Pear doesn’t chase friendships anymore.
Not the way she used to.
Now, she knows what she wants.
- Someone who picks up the damn phone.
- Someone she can text without overthinking.
- Someone who loves her as much as she loves them.
- Someone who stays, even when life gets busy.
Friendship isn’t easy.
Social media makes it look effortless, but that’s a lie. It takes work. It takes patience. It takes trust.
And she is done investing in friendships that do not invest in her.
But here’s the thing.
This is only one story.
Only a few experiences.
There are so many others. Some good ones.
And maybe one day, she’ll tell those too.
But for now—this is enough!
