They say growing closer to someone new can pull you away from the people who have always been there. I never believed that until now.
James and I had been spending a lot of time together lately — studying in the library, grabbing coffee after lectures, walking across campus just talking about everything and nothing. He made me laugh in a way no one else had, and being around him felt easy, comfortable. But even though we were close, we were just friends — at least, that's what I kept telling myself, because the last thing I wanted was to complicate everything.
But the more time I spent with James, the more I noticed Sophie slipping away.
At first, it was subtle. She stopped texting as much. Our late-night conversations became one-sided, with me sending messages that went unanswered. Then, Sophie stopped showing up at lunch with me and the others. She stopped inviting me out, too.
When I finally confronted her, hoping everything was okay, she smiled — but it didn't reach her eyes.
One afternoon, when we were alone in our dorm, Sophie broke the silence.
"Charlotte… can I be honest with you?" Her voice was quiet but serious, and something in it made my stomach twist.
"Of course," I said, bracing myself.
She looked down at her hands, then back at me, eyes filled with hurt. "I feel like you're… slipping away from me. Like I'm invisible again. And it's not just that you're hanging out with James more — it's the way you act around him, like you don't even see me anymore."
I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came. I didn't want to believe it, but her pain was real.
Sophie's voice cracked as she continued, "Darby's been talking to me. She said… she said you only used me to get close to James. That you don't care about me anymore. That you've been pretending to be my friend."
I stared at her, shocked and hurt. "That's not true, Sophie. You know that's not true."
But the doubt in her eyes told me the poison had already seeped deep.
Over the next few days, Sophie kept her distance. She was warm and friendly with others but cold and closed-off with me. Every time I tried to reach out, I felt her walls rise higher. Our friendship — the one I had cherished so deeply — was crumbling.
I caught her once whispering with Darby across the hall, their heads close together, laughing softly. I wanted to storm over and demand what was going on, but I held back, unsure if I could even believe what I might hear.
One night, desperate, I sent Sophie a message:
"I miss you. Can we talk? Please."
Hours passed. No reply. My heart sank.
The loneliness I had felt in high school returned, sharper this time. The ache of being invisible was familiar but now wrapped in betrayal and confusion.
I asked myself over and over: Had I really used Sophie? Had I been so caught up with James that I pushed away the person who had been there from the start?
I wanted to scream at Darby for poisoning Sophie's mind, for twisting everything between us. But more than that, I wanted to fix it. To bring Sophie back — to prove that I was still her friend, that I never stopped caring.
But how do you fix something when the person you want to fix it with won't even look at you?
Days turned into a silent war between us. The fun, laughter, and late-night talks were replaced by awkward nods in the hallways and cold silences.
Even James noticed.
One afternoon, as we studied together, he looked up from his notes and said softly, "Sophie's been distant, huh?"
I nodded, biting my lip. "She's upset. And I don't even know what to do anymore."
James's brow furrowed. "I don't like how Darby's messing with you two. You don't deserve that."
His concern made my heart ache even more. I was lucky to have him as a friend, but I didn't want to lose Sophie too.
That night, lying awake in my bed, I whispered to the dark, Please don't let this friendship die. Please don't let me lose her.
Because sometimes, the hardest battles aren't the ones with your enemies — they're the ones with the people you love