The prompt for today was for a friend who had changed and no longer behaved as a friend. While I sit here in front of my laptop, memories of Margaret surge back - memories that still sting as I remember them.
We met in our first year of architecture class in the university. I didn't click with her at first, her confidence came across as arrogance to me. As the leader of our study group, I would always decline her invitations to join us. But Margaret was not deterred, she kept showing up time and time again, slowly breaking down the defenses I'd built around myself.
Then, my existence was all about books. Architecture demanded everything I had to offer, and I was set on being the best. Friendship, especially with the opposite sex, was not in my carefully crafted plan. But Margaret changed that.
We connected over our shared passion for design. We had things in common that quickly brought us closer- from our method of problem-solving to our shared vision of green architecture. We went from reluctant acceptance to actual friendship, then something else happened. We became attached to each other.
Our late-night sessions of study evolved into more than just academic activities. Between model and sketch, we would sit back and indulge in coffee and daydreaming about our destiny. We could see ourselves employed by the same company, having our own practice one day. We daydreamed about shaping the architectural landscape of the future together, two dreamers with boundless potential.
The transformation was so gradual that I almost missed it. A year of close friendship had gone by before Margaret began to drift away. She still came to our study group, but her mind was elsewhere. Her enthusiasm for our shared goals diminished. Her smiles became automatic, as if she was merely pretending to be my friend.
There was growing distance, like there is a part of her life she doesn't want to share with me. Our vibrant discussions of life and design became shallow encounters. The blaze that distinguished our friendship flickered and faded.
Then came the day that changed everything. I found her with a group of boys, a supposed new study group, from other-department friends, huddled over design plans for a competition - the same competition we had envisioned we would be entering together. She had already submitted their entry without bothering to tell me.
I stood there and watched them celebrate their presentation that was to come later. When Margaret noticed me, she leaned on one of the boys who I believe is their leader and introduced me as "somebody from class." Not a best friend. Not a design partner. Just somebody. Those words stabbed more deeply than any failed project ever had.
I attempted to talk myself through the betrayal. But acceptance was tougher than I thought. Someone who had battled so intensely to be my friend now seemed to care less that our whole past didn't mean anything. All of our mutual ambitions, endless conversations late into the night, and all of our coffee breaks became nothing but memories.
Time has also taught me that friendships are like seasons. Some are permanent, while others are not. This does not diminish their worth or impact on our lives. Looking back to the incident now creates a different kind of feeling. There is no longer hurt, but acceptance. Those moments were real, although they were not supposed to be permanent.
Sometimes I feel if any of it was real. But then when I remember those drawings, with our common dreams and enthusiasm in them, I know that it was real. It just wasn't meant to continue. People mature, friendships also mature, and sometimes they fade out. The hardest part isn't to realize that friendships can fade out, it's to realize the manner in which they do.
What remains are the lessons of trust, friendship, and the fleeting nature of relationships. While the friendship of Margaret may have passed, the lessons learned from this experience continue to shape the manner in which I enter relationships with other individuals. Some people might be in our lives for a season, teaching us valuable lessons before they leave.
The pain of losing a very good friend never actually subsides, but transforms into something new, a form of understanding which enables us to navigate later friendships more intelligently and courageously. The recollections remain, but they cease to hurt so much as once they did. They have transmogrified into memories of a segment of life, yes, shut to me forevermore, yet whose passage enriched my life nonetheless.
Yes, I've accepted that friendships can be dissolved. But accepting the way it happened is different. When someone who invested so much in your friendship simply doesn't care anymore, that's terrible.
The image used is AI generated.
This is a submission for today's prompt in the #febuaryinleo daily writing prompts challenge.