It was the last night before our high school year-end ceremony. Thirty eighteen-year-old kids sat together around the campfire on the beach. The sea breeze, mixed with the fire, shifted through our faces.
Despite the silence and darkness of the night, we filled our atmosphere with nostalgic conversation, insider jokes and plans. I was engrossed in those moments until she caught my sight. In the darkness of the night, our eyes sparkled with contentment but also regret. That was Quynh — my old best friend.
Quynh and I met in secondary school. She had that approachable look with black, straight hair, a snaggle tooth when smiling and a honey skin tone. One time, while I was waiting for my parents, Quynh said she could give me a ride. I said yes, igniting our friendship.
We bonded through the mundane and immature experiences of growing up: We are both firstborns in the family with annoying siblings. We studied extra hard for fear of disappointing our teachers, families and ourselves. We ranted about people we crushed on and people we didn’t like in class. There was no limit to our conversation. After each class, she and I would visit the beach, the park, or our favourite snack places. We found a sense of understanding, familiarity and support in each other.
However, there were underlying cracks in our seemingly perfect friendship. Fierce competition and the pressure we put on ourselves gradually pulled us apart. We stopped sharing everything and enjoying our time together. Divides crept in; I started to avoid Quynh.
At first, I only neglected her questions about grades and ranking. Yet over time, I avoided seeing her. We no longer drove together to classes. When she looked at me, I immediately looked away and pretended to be busy talking to someone else. I made myself look like a coward, and indeed, I was.
What pained me until this day was that I didn’t say a thing about the situation to her. People say time heals, but it can also break. Silence and spending time apart broke our friendship. Rather than hugging her and telling her about my discomfort, I faked a smile. I acted as if nothing had happened.
I stepped away from her.
We continued to separate during our high school years despite being in the same class. She hung out with other friends while I dedicated all my time to other competitions. Whenever we bumped into each other, I always had the urge to pour my heart out to her. Yet guilt, shame, and fear of rejection appeared, replacing that intention with awkward and superficial interactions. As I reflected on the promises we made to each other in the early days of our friendship, I failed to keep the most basic rules: communication and honesty.
During that campfire night, our class took turns sharing meaningful stories. I watched Quynh through the sparkling of the fire, trying to decipher her thoughts. She still looked the same as the day we first met. After all these years of no significant conversations, I wondered how much her feelings towards me had changed. It hit me that this would be my last opportunity to say anything. I shifted my position to hide behind a friend’s back, eyes closed. Thousands of words danced around my head as I tried to find the best explanation. When it was my turn to speak, I only smiled and said: “I’m sorry for everything I did, Quynh.”
“I understand why you did that,” she looked at me.
I broke down in tears, as I knew she only wanted to make me feel less regretful. Even I couldn’t explain how our friendship — the one we valued most — could crumble that way.
Quynh and I met once after the campfire night, but our relationship lost its previous effortlessness and comfort. We rode separate bikes and didn't link arms like we used to. Our conversation was based on common topics with known answers.
Friends' fall-outs can be brutal, even more so than break-ups.
Break-ups also take time to heal, but once you get over them, life becomes whole again. A friend is not someone you can delete from your life, yet you also know your bond is not the same anymore. It reminds me of how fragile friendship is. Once you find a connection that replenishes us, hold dear to it. We can fight; we can feel sad; but we should not be silent and walk away. Never.