Some friendships don’t end with shouting — they end with silence, distance, and decisions that are hard to take back.
This is a letter to the good friend I lost, a long-time companion who was also my cousin.
I’m not sharing it to fix the past, but to express what still remains in my heart.
This letter is for Shugri.
Every word still holds true.
I thank her for holding on to the tiny thread that was keeping our bond alive.
It must have been difficult for her.
The bond with my friend, who slowly became just a cousin,
had already begun dying long before the argument that led me to cut it off entirely.
I downgraded her from a good friend to just a cousin.
It must have been hard for her to hear me say,
“From now on, you’re just a cousin.”
After all the years of effort she put in,
was it all in vain?
No.
We both tried in our own ways,
just not always in ways the other could feel.
And I can understand her pain.
Even after I said those words, she still tried to respect my decision,
a decision I made for both of us.
But somewhere in between, she got tired.
My last mistake — a prank call meant to reconnect with her,
didn’t land.
For me, it was a lighthearted attempt to reach her again,
to let her know I had a new number.
But for her, it felt like something else entirely,
especially now that we were no longer friends.
From her side, it probably made no sense why I’d call her,
knowing she didn’t like pranks.
All I really wanted was to mend the bridge.
I started the prank, then stopped it.
I said I didn’t want to continue because I thought she wouldn’t like it —
not because she had ever said that,
but because I assumed it would be safer that way.
Maybe it was already too late.
Maybe that moment was the final push she needed
to cut the already lifeless thread we had left.
Do I agree with how it ended?
Actually, yes.
I don’t blame her.
But do I like it?
No.
Still, this experience taught me something:
To try a little harder in the moment.
To stop pushing my feelings to the side.
Because ignoring them leads to blowing up later.
Ending the bond wasn’t just for my own well-being.
I could hear the hurt in her voice,
and her pain was louder than the one in my heart.
But pain is still pain.
Maybe it was simply time for our bond to end.
I loved her.
I still do.
And with all my heart, I know I always will.
She is still a friend in my heart,
just not in my current reality.
I lost a good friend.
And with the way things ended,
I guess I lost a cousin too.
I wouldn’t change anything that happened — not because I don’t regret it (I do),
but because I loved the lesson.
I loved what it made me.
How it shaped what I’ve learned.
What I need to improve on.
Who she still is for me today.
And what she’ll always be in the future:
A good friend.
In life, we are all travellers.
Sometimes we meet people,
but they’re not going to the same place we are.
Occasionally, you’ll look back — because that’s what makes you human.
But looking back doesn’t mean you have to go back.
It doesn’t mean you should stay somewhere
that no longer aligns with your present mind, soul, or body.
It just means…
You can carry the memory.
You can carry the lesson.
And you can cherish how you overcame it.
Because really,
I lost a good friend,
and I don’t even care about whose fault it is,
because what good will it do?
I’ve apologized for the mistakes I know about.
But can an apology fix a broken glass?
Why I Shared This Letter
Writing this letter to a good friend I lost helped me find closure,
not to reopen wounds,
but to honor the truth of what we shared.
The bond ended just this month.
Maybe that’s why I felt the need to write,
not just to be heard,
but to leave something behind that feels honest and full of heart.
And if you’ve ever lost a good friend too,
I hope this helps you feel a little less alone.