If life handed out medals for “most use-and-throw friendships,” I’d probably have a whole shelf by now. Not the shiny kind you’d proudly display, but the cheap plastic ones they give in school sports day just to keep kids from crying.
The sad truth? I’ve never really had what you’d call “real friends.” I don’t mean every single person was fake, but most of the people I thought were my friends didn’t exactly see me the same way. For them, I was just a classmate, a convenient homework helper, or someone to laugh at when they needed a new joke.
And me? I was the fool who thought maybe it was my fault. Maybe I was too boring, too introverted, too obedient to my parents. Maybe if I were more outgoing, they’d actually include me.
School Days: The First Disappointments
In school, there was one person I thought of as my best friend. We were in the same class for nine whole years. I always looked out for them, cheered for them, shared everything I could. But it took me years to realize they never saw me the same way.
They didn’t think I was their “friend.” To them, I was just there — like a background character in their life. I wasn’t interesting enough, I guess. They never called me when they hung out with others. They’d joke about me, nitpick my looks, and laugh about my skin tone and pimples like it was free comedy material.
They didn’t think I was their “friend.” To them, I was just there — like a background character in their life. I wasn’t interesting enough, I guess. They never called me when they hung out with others. They’d joke about me, nitpick my looks, and laugh about my skin tone and pimples like it was free comedy material.
Back then, my social anxiety wasn’t as bad as now. But even then, I’d sit in the corner while groups laughed together during free periods. No one asked me to join, because they assumed I wouldn’t. And instead of saying “hey, maybe they’re just mean,” I thought: oh, maybe I really am unlikable.
That’s how it works when you’re young — you don’t see the fakeness in others, you only blame yourself.
The Rare Good Ones
Not everyone was cruel. Somewhere in the middle of all that loneliness, I found three people who were different. They were extroverts, yes, but they respected that I was quiet and introverted. With them, I finally felt like I belonged.
We didn’t go out to malls or restaurants like other gangs, but in school, we made memories that still make me smile. Simple things — sharing lunch, laughing over silly mistakes, even sitting quietly together. That’s what real friendship feels like: comfortable, safe, unjudged.
But of course, life split us apart after 10th grade. Different subjects, different schools, different futures. Slowly, we faded from each other’s daily lives. One transferred out completely. Two stayed in my school but got busy in their own worlds.
Good friendships are like rare flowers in the desert — beautiful, but they don’t always last.
And me? I wasn’t in the gang. I was the free tutor.
I was the one who scored 70–80% and explained lessons in a way people could actually understand. My classmates, even the ones who barely spoke to me, would rush over with questions before exams. “Can you explain this?” “Can you help me with that assignment?”
And I did. Every single time. I never once got jealous if someone scored higher than me. Helping people came naturally. But the second their work was done, they’d vanish.
We didn’t go out to malls or restaurants like other gangs, but in school, we made memories that still make me smile. Simple things — sharing lunch, laughing over silly mistakes, even sitting quietly together. That’s what real friendship feels like: comfortable, safe, unjudged.
But of course, life split us apart after 10th grade. Different subjects, different schools, different futures. Slowly, we faded from each other’s daily lives. One transferred out completely. Two stayed in my school but got busy in their own worlds.
Good friendships are like rare flowers in the desert — beautiful, but they don’t always last.
The “Bestie” Gangs and My Role in Them
Every class has its “gang.” You know the type: big groups, endless selfies, matching captions about being “sisters for life.” In my class, those bestie gangs were built on jealousy and gossip. When one person left the group, the others would tear them apart behind their back.And me? I wasn’t in the gang. I was the free tutor.
I was the one who scored 70–80% and explained lessons in a way people could actually understand. My classmates, even the ones who barely spoke to me, would rush over with questions before exams. “Can you explain this?” “Can you help me with that assignment?”
And I did. Every single time. I never once got jealous if someone scored higher than me. Helping people came naturally. But the second their work was done, they’d vanish.
No calls, no invites, no friendship. Just silence.
That’s the thing about fake friends — they don’t see you as a person. They see you as a service.
The One Real Friend
Among all the half-hearted connections, there was one real friend. We met in 11th, and somehow, we managed to stay friends even through college. Different majors didn’t matter; we’d meet during breaks, share stories, and just… exist for each other.
They were kind, genuine, and never onc treated me as “boring” or “useful.” For the first time, I felt like I actually had someone.
But fate doesn’t let me keep good things for long. My mother heard a rumor that this friend had a love interest. Somehow, I was accused of “helping their love story.” (Spoiler: I wasn’t.) But in my mother’s strict, fearful world, being friends with someone in love was enough to make me “bad company.”
So she forced me to cut ties.
I was terrified of my mother, so I obeyed. I pulled away from the one person who actually cared about me. I didn’t fight for them. I regret that. Even now, it hurts to know I let fear win over friendship.
But here’s what makes them special: even after all this, they still send me birthday wishes every year. Small things — a text, a greeting — but when you’ve lived on scraps of fake friendship, those little gestures shine like gold.
To me, they’ll always be my best and only friend. Even if life didn’t let us stay close, I’ll always pray for their happiness.
They were kind, genuine, and never onc treated me as “boring” or “useful.” For the first time, I felt like I actually had someone.
But fate doesn’t let me keep good things for long. My mother heard a rumor that this friend had a love interest. Somehow, I was accused of “helping their love story.” (Spoiler: I wasn’t.) But in my mother’s strict, fearful world, being friends with someone in love was enough to make me “bad company.”
So she forced me to cut ties.
I was terrified of my mother, so I obeyed. I pulled away from the one person who actually cared about me. I didn’t fight for them. I regret that. Even now, it hurts to know I let fear win over friendship.
But here’s what makes them special: even after all this, they still send me birthday wishes every year. Small things — a text, a greeting — but when you’ve lived on scraps of fake friendship, those little gestures shine like gold.
To me, they’ll always be my best and only friend. Even if life didn’t let us stay close, I’ll always pray for their happiness.
What Fake Friends Taught Me
Looking back, all those fake friendships weren’t just painful—they were lessons. Here’s what I’ve learned:
1. Not everyone who needs you deserves you.
Homework, assignments, exam help—those aren’t friendships. They’re transactions.2. Respect is the only real foundation.
Extrovert, introvert, loud, quiet—it doesn’t matter. If there’s no respect, there’s no friendship.3. “Bestie” groups can be the fakest.
Loyalty isn’t measured in selfies or hashtags. Sometimes those gangs are built on nothing but jealousy.4. Fear ruins good things.
I’ll always regret not standing up for my one real friend. Silence cost me more than fake friends ever did.5. One true friend is better than a hundred fake ones.
If you find even one person who genuinely cares, treasure them. They’re rare.Final Thoughts
I may not have had a crowd of besties screaming my name in college corridors or tagging me in a hundred posts, but I’ve had my share of lessons.
Fake friends showed me what friendship is not. And that one real friend showed me what it is.
So here’s my conclusion: don’t waste time chasing people who see you as a backup option. Don’t break yourself trying to fit into groups that were never meant for you. And if life ever blesses you with a real friend, even just one—hold on tight, because they’re worth more than an entire crowd of fakes.
And to the one friend who still wishes me every birthday—you’ll always have a place in my heart. Maybe in this life we drifted, but if another one exists, I hope we meet again without the barriers that kept us apart.
Because friendship, the real kind, is too rare to let go twice.
Fake friends showed me what friendship is not. And that one real friend showed me what it is.
So here’s my conclusion: don’t waste time chasing people who see you as a backup option. Don’t break yourself trying to fit into groups that were never meant for you. And if life ever blesses you with a real friend, even just one—hold on tight, because they’re worth more than an entire crowd of fakes.
And to the one friend who still wishes me every birthday—you’ll always have a place in my heart. Maybe in this life we drifted, but if another one exists, I hope we meet again without the barriers that kept us apart.
Because friendship, the real kind, is too rare to let go twice.
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