Once upon a time, there was a young woman who had a friend—one who had walked beside her through the entirety of her adult life. This friend knew her secrets, her sorrows, and her laughter. Or so she believed.

For though she was always there when her friend called, the same warmth was never returned. She had crossed oceans to visit this friend’s world, but her own door had never been knocked upon. It was a bond that looked equal but weighed heavily on one side.

Friendship, she began to realize, can sometimes feel like an echo—one that only bounces back when it suits the other.

One day, three friends set out on a simple walk. There was joy, lightness, and laughter—at first. But slowly, two of them began speaking only to each other, their words forming a wall the third could not climb. The girl fell behind, swallowed by silence. Still, she chose grace over grief and walked on, blaming herself for a distance she hadn’t created.

Years passed. Another journey was planned, and hope returned to her heart. This time, she had found herself—stronger, fuller, and ready to share her truth. She spoke, she laughed, she offered pieces of her soul. But again, the two looked past her, mocking what they did not understand, and left her in her quiet corner.

Doubt crept in like fog: Are these truly my friends? Why is my honesty met with coldness? Why does their comfort demand the silencing of my own voice?

And so, she turned inward—not in retreat, but in exploration. She met others along her path, kind ones who heard her words and honored them, who debated but never dismissed, who disagreed but never degraded. She bloomed.

When the trio planned yet another meeting, she arrived with armor of self-worth. But patterns held fast. The two wandered off once more, leaving her to the shadows. Her voice—so long restrained—burst forth, but stumbled. Pain had sharpened her tongue, and the wrong words escaped.

The others refused to listen.

So, with quiet resolution, she drew a line—not of bitterness, but of self-respect. She would not follow where she was not welcomed. The bridge would remain, but she would only cross it alone, and only when the other side was willing to truly see her.

And in doing so, she chose peace over pretense—and that, too, is love. For oneself.